The Master of Bag End
by Frodo Silverlune
Summary: COMPLETE One Autumn day, a tragic accident plunges Bilbo into a coma, leaving Bag End in the care of Frodo's doubting hands. A test comes in the form of an unwelcome intruder, who will eventually decide the fate of one hobbit, and essentially Middle Earth
1. Over Blueberries and Oatmeal

**The Master of Bag End**

_By: FrodoBaggins87_

**Foreward note:** This used to be a continuation from 'The Night of a Thousand Stars,' but I deleted that story and revised a few chapters of this one, so 'The Master of Bag End' stands on it's own now. And since this is fanfiction, I am starting the story assuming you, the reader, already know the characters (aka Frodo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee and family, Gandalf, the Sackville-Baggins, etc.) so if you don't, read LotR, don't watch the movies because this fic is _book-based_ (the movies butcher Frodo's inner strength and nobility), or ask me or something. Enjoy! _FB_

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**Chapter 1: Over Blueberries and Oatmeal**

* * *

Bilbo hummed quietly to himself as he stirred steaming oatmeal and washed fresh blueberries for an early breakfast. Outside the summer was drawing to a quiet close; the birds still sang and twittered freely about, but with an atmosphere of peaceful reserve, as though saving themselves for the coming winter. The summer fruits were gathered and stored away, leaving barren bushes and trees waiting for another day to slowly pass. Even the sun shone duller today, Bilbo noted, odd for this time of year.

He turned from staring regretfully out the window as a shadow and hesitant footfall behind him announced his nephew's presence in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Frodo-lad," Bilbo sang out cheerfully as he piled the blueberries into a white china dish, "sleep well?"

"Yes, uncle," Frodo said softly, and went to take an iron pot from the fire, moving as always with the same methodical grace as the settling birds outside.

"Good then!" Bilbo set the blueberries on the table and began dining with such vigor as is only attributed to hobbits. Stirring in sugar and pouring thick cream onto his porridge seemed to remind him of something.

"Frodo, I've been invited for tea at the Sackville-Bagginses today," he said, sighing. "Obviously, they want to see if I'm getting any older." His eyes danced playfully and he watched the corner of Frodo's mouth twitch slightly. "But I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, especially when I announce to them the new heir of Bag End."

Frodo nodded politely and sipped his milk. He hadn't taken the clue.

"And do you know who that heir will be?" Bilbo asked. He had sheepishly decided on the matter only this morning, wondering why he had delayed for so long.

"I am not one to pry into your private affairs, sir," said Frodo, "But if you wish to inform me I will not object."

"Why, haven't you guessed?" Bilbo asked in surprise, and Frodo stopped chewing to stare at his uncle in disbelief.

"Surely you can't mean..." he began.

"Yes, Frodo, you are my heir."

Bilbo sat back contentedly, waiting eagerly for his reaction. Frodo thought for a while, then spoke, choosing his words carefully.

"Have you considered this long?"

Me? The heir of Bag End? He thought, Inconceivable! What was Bilbo thinking?

"Yes, I have thought over the matter thoroughly and have decided you would be best suited to be master of the smial when I have gone."

"Master?"

Bilbo sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course, it means occasional mountains of paper work, keeping up the hole, stocking the pantry, being courteous to the neighbors and upholding the Baggins name, " his eyes glinted mischievously, then softened. "And then there's the old Gaffer, who I suppose will 'replace himself' with Sam. You've met Sam, haven't you?"

"He's a pleasant lad," Frodo nodded.

"Yes, he is. He will be a wonderful companion, and his sense of propriety isn't as elevated as his father's, bless his soul. I say, the old Gaf...Mr. Gamgee, means well, but sometimes can be a bit overwhelming with his 'master! That ain't proper!' nonsense. And then, of course there's..."

"Uncle?"

"Yes Frodo?"

"Won't your...decision cause upheaval in Hobbiton society?"

"Of course it will," Bilbo laughed, but Frodo inwardly cringed. "However since my name hasn't much reputation to loose, it won't affect me much."

'Ah, there it is,' Frodo thought. 'It won't affect him much, but it will hurt.'

As he stood to clear the table he could feel Bilbo's eyes burrowing into his back, his uncle's disappointment painfully evident in the silent atmosphere.

"Why, Frodo, I thought you'd be happy about my decision!" he exclaimed softly. His displeasure tore to Frodo's heart. Here he was again, causing pain when all he wanted was to make his uncle happy.

"Of course, I suppose I should let you think on the matter before I make it official," Bilbo suggested.

"I would like that very much," Frodo replied, and Bilbo nodded, rising from the table.

He glanced at the small pile of dishes.

"Would you mind if I worked on my book for a while, lad?" he asked. "I want to write something down before I forget it and have to go to 'tea.'"

"No, I don't mind, uncle," Frodo said honestly, and his uncle left the kitchen.

Frodo stepped outside to the well and carted in a large bucket of cold water for the washing. As he poured it into a basin to heat, his thoughts swirled around.

'Me, the master of Bag End? A gentlehobbit?' He glanced at his hands, slightly calloused from chores, yet healing from the scars of past years. 'I'm not fit to be gentry. For one thing I...well, I suppose...perhaps...ah, never mind.'

He piled the dishes in the wooden wash tub and reached for the soap.

"Frodo Baggins, Master of Bag End," he laughed softly to himself, shaking his head.

'I can't lead a pony to water, let alone manage an entire hole, especially one as large as this!'

He gazed around him at the spacious kitchen, nearly three times the size of his bedroom, furnished with elaborate oak cupboards, behind the carved doors of which stood hundreds of gold coins worth of expensive kitchen ware. And this was only one room! There were passageways he hadn't explored and doors through which he hadn't peeked, not to mention Bilbo's legendary treasure still stored somewhere in the winding halls behind a secret panel of some kind.

Him, in charge of all this wealth? His own two insufficient hands guarding two lifetimes worth of priceless valuables?

Frodo shook his head again in wonder that Bilbo should think to leave all of this to him. He poured the boiling water into the tub and carefully dropped the dishes in. As he reached for the rag, he happened to glance up through the window above the sink to find two pairs of round brown eyes watching him intently. They immediately disappeared from sight, and Frodo craned his neck to see who had been staring in at him. The eyes had seemed familiar, but it took him a while before he finally remembered whose they belonged to.

They were little Sam's eyes.

'I wonder what he's been up to,' Frodo found himself musing. How had he known it was Sam, just from seeing his eyes? He turned back to the dirty dishes, sighing audibly as the sunlight traced a round, criss-crossed pattern on the red brick floor.

* * *

_Beh, keep reading! It ain't over yet, not by a long shot._


	2. Mr Frodo

**The Master of Bag End**

by: FrodoBaggins87

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**Chapter 2: Mr. Frodo**

* * *

"Mum! Mum!" Sam yelled as he dashed through his house in search of his mother.

"I'm over here, Sam!" Bell Gamgee's voice drifted from the parlor. Sam redirected his steps and found his mother sitting in her rocking chair by the fireplace sewing.

"Samwise Gamgee! I thought you were helping your father at Bag End!" she chastised.

"I was," Sam panted, breathless from his run. "But I was listenin' in at the window and I heard Mr. Bilbo say to Mr. Frodo that he was goin' to get Bag End and all the stuff in it, and I'm goin' to work for Mr. Frodo someday!" Sam beamed up at his mother, waiting for her approval on his fascinating message. Mrs. Gamgee stood up and laid her sewing to the side.

"Does your father know?' She asked, staring down at him, hands planted on her hips.

"Well, no," Sam said nervously, shifting his feet.

"Sam, look at me," Mrs. Gamgee said, tilting her son's face up to her own. "Were you spyin' on Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Turn around," she ordered, and Sam's face went beet red. He slowly turned around and shut his eyes.

THWACK!

Sam gave a little yelp and rubbed his sore bottom.

"Now, what do you have to say for yourself?" Mrs. Gamgee said sternly. "Spyin' on the masters? How would you like to be spied on?"

"I don't suppose I'd like it all that much," Sam confessed, eyes watering. Mrs. Gamgee enveloped him in a hug.

"You know I love you, Sam," she said. "But would I be a very good mother if I let you get away with pryin' into other people's affairs? I'm sorry I had to discipline you, but next time you remember to keep you nose out of other people's affairs."

Sam sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Aye, I know you're sorry, but what about Mr. Frodo? Does he know you were spyin'?"

"He saw me at the window."

"Then you had best run along and say you're sorry."

"To Mr. Frodo?" Sam gasped in horror, face going redder still. Mrs. Gamgee nodded.

* * *

Frodo sank down onto the green garden bench beneath the cherry tree with a sigh. He settled into a comfortable position and leaned back, gazing up at the blue sky through the maze of shiny branches, book laying closed on his lap. Finally he had a chance to relax and read. Bilbo was off at his tea party, and Frodo had gratefully accepted the invitation to stay home, knowing any avoided encounter with the Sackville-Bagginses was a welcome one. Mr. Gamgee had been working in the garden all morning, and had just switched to the front pathway, leaving Frodo with a nice hunk of time all to himself to do whatever he liked, a rare treat.

He loved the garden, with all its many plants and flowers trimmed and cultivated so lovingly by the Gaffer's old hands. Even the very bench he was sitting on was placed just so as to be of the most comfort and taste. And the colors! The lighter, smaller flowers accenting a group of dark blue, what were they called? He couldn't remember the name. He breathed in the deep, earthy fragrance and opened his book.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo jumped from the bench with surprise, and whirled around to face the intruder.

"I'm sorry to startle you, sir," Sam said, cautiously coming closer, "But my dad said you were out here, and so I thought...I mean, would you mind...well, I was wantin' to say...ah! I can't say it!"

Frodo smiled in spite of himself.

"Was it you I saw in the window this morning?" he asked kindly, trying to sound gentle.

Sam blushed and nodded.

"That's what I wanted to talk to ya about, sir, if ya don't mind, that is."

"Of course not," Frodo replied, resuming his seat and trying to sound cheerful at having his respite interrupted. "Won't you sit down?"

Sam blushed again and sat beside him on the bench, swinging his feet and playing with a twig in his hand.

"I just wanted to apologize, sir, for intrudin' and all," he said bashfully. "I never meant no harm, I was just curious, and the blueberries looked so good....."

"There's some left over," Frodo offered. "Would you like some?"

Sam's face brightened at the prospect.

"Aye sir! I mean, if it isn't too much trouble, sir,"

"Please call me Frodo," Frodo said, leading the young hobbit into the kitchen.

"You won't be offended?"

Frodo shook his head and reached for the blueberry bowl.

"I don't mind," he said. "Help yourself."

"Thank you sir...Frodo, Mr. Frodo?"

The older hobbit shrugged.

"Whatever you like," he said, giving up the senseless fight as Sam popped a blueberry into his mouth.

"I heard Mr. Bilbo say you were going to be his hair," Sam said, curiosity overcoming his shyness. Frodo grinned at the mistake.

"Heir, not hair," he corrected. "But yes, Bilbo did offer that option."

"So are you goin' to have Bag End as your own someday?" Sam's brown eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Perhaps," answered Frodo simply. "Why are you so inquisitive?"

"Inquisitive?"

"Curious."

"Oh." Sam blushed and shrugged. "Mr. Bilbo said I would be working for you someday, and I figured if that was to be then we'd better be friends."

"Friends?" Frodo asked. He had never had a friend close to his age before. Well, Sam seemed pleasant. Perhaps it was worth a try.

"Very well," he smiled, extending his hand. Sam scooted around it and hugged him quickly about the waist.

"Isn't your mother wondering where you are?" Frodo asked as he pried the hobbit loose.

"No. She knew I was coming to apologize. Do you know of any games?"

"Games? No."

"You don't know any games?" Sam gasped, horror-stricken, and Frodo found himself smiling, liking the lad already. "Well, if ya don't mind, I'll teach a few to ya, sir," he said, taking Frodo's hand and pulling him out the door. "Me and my friends play a game where there's two teams, ya see, and one finds a place to hide out and defend while the other team looks for them to conquer. What kind of games did you play in Buckland?"

"I didn't play any games," Frodo tried to explain, and Sam's eyes widened even larger.

"Ya must have been awful bored, sir," he said seriously, and the look on his face was so comically serious that Frodo burst out laughing.

"I shall rely on you to teach me, Sam," he admitted in a humble tone, and the young hobbit's face broke into a wide grin.

"I'd like that," he said. "Come on!"

* * *

**To be continued!**


	3. Second Thoughts

The Master of Bag End *CONTINUATION of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'*  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. I just borrow the characters and torture them! ; )  
  
heartofahobbit: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you read tNoaTS. There will be a lot more Frodo/Sam stuff in here, but not slash of course. The action is coming!  
  
JULES6: Thanks for reviewing: twice! Glad you liked those little embarrassing moments for Sam. I hope I didn't make him sound too young though. I try to be as accurate as possible, but I don't know if hobbits mature at the same rate humans do.  
  
Ms Hobgoblin: Thanks for reviewing, and yes, you did review on the last chapter of NOATS. Glad to see you back! Hope you'll keep posted! I'm going to make every attempt to update every three days, but if I get more reviews I'll post faster.  
  
Iorhael: Yes, I was very happy to get more reviews. Thanks for reviewing again, and hope to see you more!  
  
Daewen ; D: Thanks for reviewing! I can't remember if I've heard from you before, but I think I have. Glad you like the story! Hope you keep posted! Did you read tNoaTS? Just wondering..maybe that's where I heard from you before, hmmm, *ponders.*  
  
~Chapter 3~ Second Thoughts  
  
~~~~*~~~~  
  
Bilbo shut the front door loudly, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up with a huff. He was always in a mild temper after an encounter with the Sackville-Bagginses, and this had been the worst one yet. Why, when Bilbo had said he was considering making Frodo the sole heir of his fortunes, Lobelia had nearly slapped him in the face! Then had come the tedious, futile task of explaining *why,* which had left him doubting.  
  
Frodo hadn't seemed too pleased with the prospect of inheriting Bag End. What if he didn't want it? Or what if he thought Bilbo was just trying to keep it from falling into the S.B.'s hands? The more Bilbo thought about it the more he began to have second thoughts.  
  
Had he made the decision too hastily, he wondered? Perhaps he had only felt sorry for the orphan lad, and wished to spoil him? Speaking of which, where was he? The smial was terribly quiet, as it had been in the lonely years before he had taken his nephew in.  
  
"Frodo!" he called. There was no answer.  
  
'Where could he have gone?' Bilbo wondered. Frodo hadn't ventured out of Bag End alone, except for the one dark occasion. The elderly hobbit wandered through the hole, calling Frodo's name. When he had just about given up he heard the merry sound of laughter outside, and he made a beeline for the back door.  
  
"Frodo!" he cried, tapping his foot impatiently as his nephew instantly sobered and approached him. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"  
  
"I'm sorry, uncle. I was playing."  
  
"Playing? Why didn't you let me know first, or at least leave a note? I was beginning to worry!" He noticed Sam standing back in the distance, dirty and somber. "Run along, Samwise," Bilbo said, shooing him in the direction of #3 Bagshot Row.  
  
"Bye Mr. Frodo!" shouted the lad as he turned to jog for home.  
  
Scarcely was Sam out of earshot when Bilbo continued his tirade.  
  
"And look at you! Absolutely filthy! Have you been rolling around in the mud all afternoon?"  
  
"Not exactly..."  
  
Bilbo groaned and ushered him inside.  
  
"How am I supposed to present a respectable heir to society if that same person allows himself to engage in childlike activities? What would the Sackville-Bagginses say to me if they saw you throwing mud like a ruffian?"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," Frodo said softly, staring at the ground, hands clasped behind his back. Bilbo immediately regretted what he had said. Frodo hadn't meant to cause trouble, and here he was lecturing him as though his image was all that mattered!  
  
"I'm sorry, lad," he sighed, sliding into his chair at the kitchen table. "You caught me in a bad mood."  
  
"I understand the tea didn't fare well," Frodo said. "I'll get cleaned up in time for dinner." His footsteps retreated out the door, leaving Bilbo feeling thoroughly miserable.  
  
~  
  
As the weeks progressed, Bilbo began to notice Frodo spending more time with the Gamgee lad, Samwise. He was glad that his lonely nephew had finally found a friend, and did as much as he could to avoid getting in their way. Frodo needed companionship his age, and the gentle-hearted, stout little gardener was a wonderful choice. He had a feeling they would become fast friends in the future.  
  
Yet as he watched their relationship blossom, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous of his own deteriorating connection to his nephew. Frodo seemed to be avoiding him as much as possible. Perhaps Bilbo had broken the news to him too soon. But then again, had he really made the right choice?  
  
Frodo could never marry, now that he thought about it, and the very fact made his blood boil. To think someone had been hurting his own relations in such a way! And of all hobbits, Frodo had to be the one to be hurt, after all he had suffered already. It just wasn't fair to him.  
  
If Frodo couldn't marry, then who would he pass the hole on to? Lotho? Lotho's offspring? He shivered to think of his smial falling into their greedy paws.  
  
And with Frodo's shy mannerisms, how would he keep from being cheated? What if he lost Bag End or cast it into financial ruin? Did he really have enough gumption to hire maids to help him with the upkeep once Bell Gamgee was gone? He had seemed doubtful enough about the mere suggestion of being called 'master.'  
  
Bilbo's thoughts whirled around in his head until it was impossible to write. He needed answers, and they would need to come fast!  
  
"Gandalf my old friend," he muttered, massaging his temples wearily. "If there was ever a time to need your advice, it is now."  
  
~*~  
  
Frodo stepped cautiously into the Gamgee's kitchen, pulled in by the insistent pleadings of his new friend.  
  
"Mum!" he said happily. "Frodo's come to visit us!"  
  
Mrs. Gamgee turned around in surprise, hands still coated with a white caking of flour.  
  
"Why, Mr. Baggins!" she exclaimed, washing her hands, "What a pleasant surprise!"  
  
Frodo bowed politely.  
  
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, glancing at the unfinished dough on the cutting board. Mrs. Gamgee waved off the matter.  
  
"Of course not! Any visit is a welcome one! Won't you have some tea? I baked some boysenberry tarts jest yesterday, and Sam seems to take to them mighty well." She raised one eyebrow at her son and he grinned back guiltily.  
  
"I'm afraid that's my fault, Mrs. Gamgee," Frodo apologized. "Sam and I were playing and through my influence Sam sneaked a couple of sweets from your pantry. But they *were* very good."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee gazed at the young gentlehobbit with new-found respect for his blunt confession. She couldn't think of anything respectable to say.  
  
"Well, thankee, Mr. Baggins," she said, "for savin' Sam from a spanking."  
  
Frodo's pale cheeks blushed ever so slightly.  
  
"It was my fault, after all, and you don't need to call me Mr. Baggins. Frodo will do, although Sam seems to call me 'Mr. Frodo' once in a while."  
  
"Very well, Mr. Frodo. If you'll jest sit down I'll boil up some tea in a jiffy."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Gamgee," the lad replied as he sat at the other, less flour-y end of the table.  
  
'There's somethin' different about this hobbit,' Mrs. Gamgee found herself thinking as she prepared the tea. 'Somthin' respectable that ye don't find much elsewhere in the gentry. A real gentlehobbit he'll be when he comes of age, if he can rid the melancholy from his face. 'Tis a pity to see such sad eyes, although I daresay he hides it might well! It must've taken years to perfect, poor thing!'  
  
Once Frodo had finished his tea (and boysenberry tarts), Mrs. Gamgee watched her boy escort the guest to the front door. She was glad Sam had found such a friend. It was already evident their friendship would be something else in the years to come.  
  
~*~  
  
Lotho shuffled his feet grumpily as he walked along the dry dirt road, kicking at small stones as he passed, sending them flying in little clouds of dust. How dare that stinking Bucklander come in and take his inheritance away from him? It wasn't fair! By all rights *he* should have had Bag End!  
  
"I'll get even with you, Frodo *Baggins,*" he spat venomously. "You can be sure about that!"  
  
~To be continued!~  
  
Thank you for being patient. The action is coming in the next chapter!  
  
Please review! The more reviews I get the faster I post! 


	4. The Traveler's Valley

The Master of Bag End *CONTINUATION of The Night of a Thousand Stars*  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.  
  
Breon Briarwood: Wow. It seems you have discovered me all of a sudden. Or, you just really like my stories or something. Thanks for reviewing *counts* 4 times and emailing me! Hmmmm, I don't think I'll answer all five of them here. Too much space. THANK YOU for reviewing so much!!!! I like reviews. Reveiws make me happy. I'm not mad, don't worry! Like I said, reviews=good. Yea! Pie.  
  
JULES6: You assumed correctly! Something IS about to happen, that will wake people up, I hope. So far this story has been drama, angst, drama, angst, angst, drama, now for some action! Mwahahahahahahahaaaa  
  
MBradford: Hurray! Nice to see you! (*chuckles gleefully* now I have two top authors/reviewers reading my story *purrs*) Yes, I have been very busy too, but I hope to be less busy, now that marching band season is over. Don't be stressed to review, but I will welcome a note anytime! I hope you don't think I'm plagiarizing your ideas. (Lotho) If it sounds like it, let me know! *blush*  
  
Mayberry: Thanks for stopping by this time! Yes, part of the later action will involve Lotho, but not right now.  
  
Daewen: Yes, I remember you. *blush* Thanks for reviewing! Yes, more Frodo coming up.  
  
Kaewi: Thanks for the encouragement! That's nice to know, that I did I good transition. Hope to see more of you in later chapters!  
  
Ms Hobgoblin: Thanks for reviewing! I'm trying to find the best schedule to post on. Not too fast, not too slow. If you have any ideas, please let me know! About Lotho....wait and see!  
  
Reviewers: This may or may not be the last time I respond individually, depending on my time schedule. If I do respond, hurray! If not, I haven't forgotten you!  
  
~Chapter 4~ The Traveler's Valley  
  
~~~~*~~~~  
  
"All set, Frodo-lad?"  
  
Frodo buttoned his cloak around his shoulders and adjusted the food bag slung across his chest to dangle at his side.  
  
"Yes," he replied, and Bilbo took up his walking stick.  
  
"Off we go, then!" the elderly chap said genially and they stepped out the door, locking it securely behind them. Once on the road, Bilbo took a deep breath and sighed deliciously.  
  
"Nothing like a bite to the air to waken one's mind, eh?" he asked, drinking in the deep blue autumn sky and rolling hills freckled with orange and yellow trees like living jewels. "Now where should we go today?"  
  
Frodo shrugged and Bilbo turned knowingly.  
  
"There must be someplace you want to visit," he coaxed.  
  
"Well, I did hear about the Traveler's Valley," Frodo said hesitantly and Bilbo's grin narrowed.  
  
"The Traveler's Valley?" he asked disapprovingly. "What would you want to visit that dangerous place for?"  
  
Frodo grinned.  
  
"Perhaps the same reason you visited a dragon's lair."  
  
Bilbo smiled and thought for a while.  
  
"Where did you hear about the Valley?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"From Hamson, Bilbo. He described it so vividly I've had a curiosity to see it."  
  
"Very well," Bilbo sighed, setting off down the road in a northerly direction. "A quick look won't hurt, but you must be very careful. The Traveler's Valley is quite unstable, and any loud noise could set off an avalanche and bury you alive! Did Hamson tell you that?" Bilbo raised a gray eyebrow.  
  
"Well, no," Frodo admitted, falling into step beside his uncle. "He didn't mention it being as dangerous as you say."  
  
Bilbo nodded in understanding.  
  
"Youngsters," he mumbled under his breath, "always seeking thrills and avoiding caution as though it were a swarm of wasps!"  
  
~*~  
  
The noon sun was burning defiantly overhead when the pair stopped for a hasty luncheon. The terrain was becoming increasingly steeper and the vegetation was disappearing rapidly under the shadow of a looming passage in the distance.  
  
"That, my boy," Bilbo said as he chewed a hunk of bread, "is the Valley. Do you know how it came by its name?" Frodo shook his head and waited for his uncle to continue. "Nearly two hundred years ago a party of hobbits was traveling along this same road we are, heading north to spend a few days at Lake Evendim. You see, it had been a scorching summer and with nothing better to do, they set out for a holiday. Well, as they were passing through the Valley, an avalanche buried them all, alive. No one has yet to find the cause. Some say a pony was startled and his whinny set the rocks tumbling, and others say it was launched on purpose. No one knows, but to this day most decent travelers who know the story avoid the valley at all costs."  
  
Bilbo finished and hoped to find a hint of fear behind Frodo's eyes. He did not like the Valley and would have rather picked a safer place as their day's destination, but he had not wanted to disappoint his nephew. To his dismay, a flicker of adventure had been kindled in his Frodo's soul, and was betraying itself in the daring glimmer in the depths of his blue eyes.  
  
"That's fascinating," Frodo said, and his uncle nodded in agreement, although it was of a different kind. "When shall we reach it?"  
  
"In an hour," Bilbo predicted, glancing at shadows on the ground. "Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else?"  
  
"I'm sure, uncle," Frodo said, gathering up their things hastily. Within minutes they were up and back on the road, heading for the jagged valley looming like a dark sentinel and leaving the plesant green hills behind them.  
  
~*~  
  
True to his word, scarcely and hour had passed before the uncle and his nephew stood in the very shadow of the valley, the sharp walls rising steeply on either side of them. Far in the crevice could be heard a low moaning as the trapped wind begged to be freed from it's unforgiving prison.  
  
"Come on!" Frodo urged, nearly pulling his uncle through the stone pillars.  
  
"Shhh!" Bilbo cautioned, glancing nervously about him. "Remember what I told you about the avalanches!"  
  
Frodo nodded, slightly irritated and drank in the mysterious walls around him rising hundreds of feet into the sky. The whole valley seemed as though it used to be one stone, but an earthquake had sliced it with a cleaving knife. Large fallen boulders scattered the ground and lay piled in huge heaps beside the cliff walls.  
  
Frodo gasped in surprise when he saw a huge boulder nearly as large as a house rising from a massive scattering of smaller rocks littering its base. The countless marbles imbedded in their own sand formed a nice little incline nearly right up to the top. Before Bilbo could protest, he was scrambling up the mini mountain, making for the boulder's summit.  
  
"Frodo!" Bilbo whispered harshly. "Come down here!"  
  
Frodo ignored his uncle and planted his foot in a crack in the boulder, preparing to hoist himself up. Bilbo was fretting over nothing. Adults never wanted children to have fun.  
  
"Frodo!"  
  
One little jump and he had mounted the smooth peak, looking down at his uncle's small form below him. A grin on his face, he motioned for Bilbo to join him. Bilbo shook his head fiercely and waved for Frodo to come down. A defiance Frodo hadn't felt in months rose surprisingly clear to the surface and he sat down on the rock, waiting. He watched Bilbo's mouth harden into a firm line as the elderly hobbit began picking his way carefully up the incline.  
  
A gleeful feeling of guilty triumph settled comfortably in Frodo's head as he watched Bilbo climb. His unlce would know what he had called him up for when he reached the top.  
  
"Frodo!" Bilbo stood mounted on a heap of loose rocks looking up at his nephew perched comfortably on the boulder. "This is dangerous! Get down from there this instant!"  
  
Frodo had a strong desire to stick out his tounge, but decided it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he patted the space beside him.  
  
"Come on up!" he whispered. "The view is wonderful!"  
  
Bilbo shook his head fiercely and swayed a little, caught off balance by the shifting rocks.  
  
"Come down!" he half-whispered harshly, and with a sigh Frodo slid carefully from the top. He missed the look of relief crossing the elderly hobbit's face, for a tremor in the pile distracted his attention. For the first time he felt the fault upon which this valley so precariously sat.  
  
"Uncle, I think we should g.." Frodo's words were cut short when the ground seemed to erupt under his feet, nearly flinging him into the air. He felt himself falling, and put his hands out to brace himself, when he was jerked roughly from behind and pulled to safety. He had one fleeting glimpse of Bilbo's arms flailing helplessly in the air before the earth bucked again, and he lost his footing. Down he slid, bumping painfully against the rocks until he finally came to a stop at the foot of the pile.  
  
The earth shook violently and he pressed his palms flat against its quivering surface, shaking with fear, eyes clenched shut. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. All that was left was a choking haze of dust and newly fallen rocks. Frodo coughed and shakily rose to his feet, glancing at his scraped hands.  
  
"Bilbo?" he half-called, but there was no answer. He coughed again and blinked away the dust from his eyes. He glanced frantically at the rock pile and his heart rose to his throat, fear nearly clouding his vision.  
  
"Uncle!" he cried. There was Bilbo, laying crumpled amidst still tumbling pebbles, a pool of dark blood steadily forming beneath his unconscious head.  
  
~To be continued!~  
  
please review! 


	5. Journey Home

The Master of Bag End *CONTINUATION of The Night of a Thousand Stars*  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, never have, never will.  
  
Thanks Iorhael, Chaos, Ms Hobgoblin, and Kaewi for reviewing!  
  
**Next update Jan. 25**  
  
NO SLASH Hey, when you're wounded in the wilderness, survival becomes the most important thing, not propriety.  
  
~Chapter 5~ Journey Home  
  
Rated PG-13 for graphic medical details. If that kind of stuff turns you off, I've put a star next to the paragraphs to avoid.  
  
~~~~*~~~~  
  
Frodo knelt helplessly by his uncle's side, not daring to touch him. He couldn't see where the blood was coming from on his head, and didn't want to cause further injury by moving him.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered as tears trailed freely down his dusty face. The sweet smell of Bilbo's blood came wafting up to him and he had to turn away to settle his stomach. This was horrible, a nightmare come to life. Here he was miles from any living being with a terrible wound between him and the person he loved like a father.  
  
And it was all his fault.  
  
Bilbo hadn't wanted to go to the Traveller's Valley, but he had done so to satisfy Frodo's own curiosity. Bilbo had told him to climb down from the boulder, but what had he done? He had sat down defiantly and forced his uncle to climb up to him.  
  
"If you hadn't climbed up, you wouldn't have fallen," Frodo moaned as he stared at Bilbo's still body. The blood was collecting in a rather large area now, and Frodo suddenly snapped out of his shock. What had he been doing, sitting here letting his uncle bleed to death?  
  
* He dug through his pack until he found the white linen napkins they had wrapped their lunch in. He dusted off the crumbs and gingerly turned Bilbo's head to find the cut. There it was, glaring rudely behind his left ear, nearly two inches long. Frodo pressed the napkins to it hurriedly to block out the sight, and while he was rummaging for something to bind them with he felt a warm wetness soaking into his palm. He pushed the instinctive cringing to the back of his mind. It would not do to panic when his uncle would die if he didn't do something.  
  
Not finding anything long enough in the bag, Frodo took their cheese knife and sawed a strip of dark green wool from the hem on his cloak, tying it securely around Bilbo's head. He hoped it would hold until they got home.  
  
There it was, getting home. What if Bilbo didn't wake up? Could Frodo really carry him all that way? What would moving him do? He had witnessed a terrible accident before, and the adults hadn't touched the victim until the doctor came, explaining if the victim was moved it could cause further damage. Yet was a head wound the same as a spinal injury? He buried his face in his hands. This was too much for him to think on, too much to worry about. Certainly, sitting here wouldn't do any good. Night would be falling in a few hours and wolves probably roamed the desolation about them.  
  
There was only one option, then. He must keep moving, and take Bilbo with him.  
  
Setting his mouth in a grim line, Frodo packed up his 'medical supplies' and tried to think of the best way to carry him. His arms would not be able to support his uncle's heavy body alone, so holding him was out. He had carried children piggy-back, once upon a time, but Bilbo wouldn't be able to hold on. He stared around him helplessly and caught sight of his torn cloak hem. Wait! That was it!  
  
Frodo tore another strip from his cloak and bound his uncle's elbows together securerly. Then, with the utmost care, he slipped his head through the small circle and slowly rose, grasping Bilbo's knees to his side. He struggled to his feet in grim triumph, shifting his heavy burden so as to center the most weight. There rode Bilbo in a piggy-back, his bandaged head nestled in Frodo's dark curls on the left side of his neck.  
  
"Well, at least the mystery of the Travelers is solved," he muttered sarcastically.  
  
Thus Frodo set off on the long road ahead, at whose end lay the comforts of a welcome home.  
  
~*~  
  
Sam peered out the window at the darkening clouds overhead and hoped Bilbo and Frodo would make it home before the storm struck. The old Gaffer had foretold a particularly nasty one today from the aches in his bones, but the pair had gone out anyway, heedless of his dire warnings.  
  
"Mother, may I to to Bag End to see if Frodo's back yet?" he asked loudly to his mother in the other room.  
  
"No, Sam. I need your help right now in the kitchen. They'll make it home all right, you'll see."  
  
Sighing, Sam turned from his post with a backwards glance, trying in his heart to believe something he knew wasn't true.  
  
~*~  
  
Frodo stumbled along the road, knees quaking from the weight of his burden. He glanced uneasily at the dark clouds and tried in vain to make his feet walk faster. He could barely feel his knee joints anymore, and knew he couldn't go on much further without a rest. Besides that, he was aching all over from his own fall and was getting anxious to check Bilbo's head.  
  
Thankfully, he had passed from the desert-like region a while ago and was seeing more trees scattered here and about, yet none were close to the road. If the sun had been shining, his shadow would have arched long to the right of him, yet the welcome star was shrouded from sight. A chilly wind was beginning to build, and the clouds seemed to reach for the earth, trying to pull it into their dark embrace.  
  
* Frodo shuddered and ambled off the road, looking for a soft place to lay his uncle. Finding none, he set him down on a thin clover-bed and examined the bandage. It was entirely soaked through with blood, but none appeared to have leeked out in a while. The bleeding had stopped.  
  
Frodo sighed deeply in relief and stretched his sore muscles. A severe pain tore through his right side and he gasped out loud, doubling over in agony. He shut his eyes and waited until it dimmed before unbuttoning his shirt to see the cause. A dark purple bruise in the middle of his rib cage throbbed painfully, but no other injury was to be seen. Frodo shook his head at his weakness, nearly screaming over a simple bruise! How pathetic.  
  
He felt tears beginning to cloud his eyes, and he brushed them angrily away. He couldn't cry, not now while Bilbo need his help. Tears would come later, when he could afford them. But now he needed to get home.  
  
The young hobbit stood gingerly, ankles aching from a day of travel. Once more he hefted his burden and with new energy pointed his feet towards home.  
  
There it was again, that word, home. What would he do when he got there? How could he explain the accident to the Gamgees, how it was all his fault? They would never trust him again, knowing how he led his own uncle to such dire injury. And Sam, what would he think? Would he even talk to Frodo anymore?  
  
Frodo hung his head in shame and trudged along on numb knees. He had lost, and almost lost so many people, how could he bear to loose any more?  
  
'I'll fetch a doctor,' Frodo thought to himself, 'and I'll tell him not to tell anyone. I won't tell the Gamgees. Once Bilbo gets better, he can tell them. Then at least they'll see how he got better...'  
  
He sighed, gazing at the long road ahead. How did it get so long? They had passed this very way this morning and it had seemed so short. Why now did the road sretch like an unending ribbon ahead of him, mocking him with its many twists and turns. He shifted Bilbo's weight on his back and felt his hot breath on his neck. Shivers ran up and down his spine, and he wanted so badly to find another way to carry him, but there was none. He gritted his teeth and carried on.  
  
"At least it's not raining," he muttered, "yet."  
  
As soon as he had spoken the words, a cold touch brushed his forehead, and Frodo squinted upwards at the clouds in indignation. A moment later the rain was pouring in icy buckets from the fathomless well in the sky, and Frodo was soaked completely.  
  
At first it was endurable, but after a long time the rain had no indication of letting up any time soon, and he trudged through the freezing waterfall, clutching his precious burden tighter than ever. His wet clothing was water-slickened, and Bilbo kept slipping from his grasp. Not to mention the invisible mud puddles appearing on the road, into which he stumbled more often than not. The light was failing rapidly. Already the road in front of him was barely discernable from the surrounding hills.  
  
Thus it was with a glad heart that Frodo laid eyes upon the first round, yellow window set deep into a hillside, like a lighthouse in a storm. He breathed a sigh of relief and found a new bounce to his steps. Through the gray curtain engulfing him, the lights of countless smials began to blink on, guiding him home.  
  
Hours later, Frodo passed the twinkling lights in the Gamgee home, and he hurried on by, hoping they hadn't seen him. But how he wished they would help him! He was so tired, and the rain and cold seemed to suck every ounce of warmth from his blood. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and close his eyes.  
  
'Just a little further,' he told himself, although his brain was so incoherent he barely heard his own words.  
  
There it was, at last! Frodo saw the dim outline of Bag End looming blackly out of the darkness, and he stumbled forward with faltering steps. He fumbled with the latch on the gate with numb fingers, and climbed the steps stiffly, knees refusing to obey his commands. A smial had never looked so welcoming. Finally, he grasped the brass handle in the middle of the green door and jerked it. It wouldn't open.  
  
He groaned, remembering how Bilbo had locked the door on their way out, and now he had no key.  
  
Head lolling with weariness, he stumbled around the foot of the hill until he came to the back door. He pushed it open and nearly tumbled inside. He had made it, at last!  
  
Frodo ambled as if in a daze through the familiar passageway to Bilbo's room. There was still so much to do, but oh, he had never been so tired. Every limb was numb, and once he laid Bilbo upon the master bed, his arms began tingling, going limp. He groaned and fetched a pile of blankets from the linen closet, covering Bilbo's prostrate form. He built up the fire in the room without thinking, and in the orange light he saw his uncle's pale face, washed clean by the rain. He needed to check the wound.  
  
Frodo went slowly into the kitchen to fetch real bandages from his uncle's abundant supply, but once he stepped into the kitchen an unfamiliar ringing met his ears. It took him a moment to realize it was caused by the absence of sound. He opened the side door and peered outside.  
  
It had stopped raining, and the clouds were parting to reveal a jewel- encrusted sky brooched with a brilliant moon.  
  
Frodo groaned again and shut the door behind his back, sliding down to the floor at the foot of it. All the emotions of the day caught up to him in one wave, the fear, the anguish, the pity, the anxiety, and finally the gloom set his shoulders heaving with dim sobs. Hot tears flowed freely down his clammy face, and he fell asleep on the cold floor of the kitchen, more miserable than he had ever felt in the past few months.  
  
~To be continued!~ 


	6. Warmth

The Master of Bag End *CONTINUATION of The Night of a Thousand Stars*  
  
Thank you Ms Hobgoblin, Mayberry, Breon Briarwood, JULES6, and Kaewi for reviewing! Hope you like this next chapter!  
  
Note: If I reveal more details than you want to know, it's because I'm trying to show how hard it is for Frodo. Angst.  
  
~Chapter 6~ Warmth  
  
~~~~*~~~~  
  
Sam whistled merrily to himself as he strolled around the hill of Bag End, heading for the back door. He seldom came in the front. It seemed too ominous to him, a simple gardener's son.  
  
It was a fine morning. Last night's storm had washed the air clean, and there was that sharp nip to it that sprang your mind into action when one breathed it in through their nostrils. The flowers were shaking off their diamond raindrops, and the puddles in the mud reflected the serene blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds.  
  
He meant to ask Frodo to play today. They had such a wonderful time together. He wondered what kind of books Frodo read to come up with such wonderful ideas for make-believe. Sam already had a new idea, and could hardly wait to tell his friend.  
  
Therefore, when he pushed on the back door and found it blocked by something heavy, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. He pushed harder, and suddenly it gave away and Sam stumbled into the kitchen in a flurry of arms and legs, bowling into something very cold and very wet in the process.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" he gasped when he had recovered enough to barely recognize the hobbit. "What happened to you?"  
  
Frodo stumbled to a chair and practically collapsed into it, burying his head in his arms on the tabletop. Sam had never seen his friend so awful, and a great desire was awakened in him to do everything possible to help.  
  
"What is it?" Sam asked, laying a hand on his quaking shoulder. It was then he realized Frodo was shaking all over, and his knuckles, where he clenched his arms, were terribly white.  
  
Sam flew from the room and snatched a warm blanket from the linen closet, then returning, laid it across his friend's shoulders. Upon doing so, he noticed a dark stain on the left shoulder of Frodo's cloak, torn at the hem.  
  
Apparently the hobbit had been soaked completely through, Sam thought as he built a large fire in the fireplace and put a kettle on to boil. But how long had he been that way? The rain had stopped last night. And why had he been sleeping in the kitchen? Why hadn't he been in bed, like a proper hobbit? So many questions flew through Sam's mind!  
  
He heard a scrape behind him and turned to see Frodo rise stiffly as though every bone in his body ached, and promptly collapse again into the chair.  
  
"You'd best not be movin', sir, until you've got some warmth back in you," Sam said as he poured a hot cup of tea, setting it gently in front of his friend. Frodo took it without a word and cupped his hands about the steaming mug, drawing warmth from the heated porcelain. He took a long sip and set it down, for his arm was shaking too much to hold it.  
  
"Thank you, Sam," he said in a harsh voice, and sighed.  
  
"You might want to be gettin' out of them wet clothes," Sam said, concern for his condition wiping away all class distinctions between them. "And I'll heat up water for a bath."  
  
Frodo shook his head, wet curls dragging wearily.  
  
"Don't bother," he said, and had opened his mouth to say more when he was taken by a violent fit of suppressed coughing.  
  
"You're sick, sir," Sam said softly. "My mum always gives me a bath when I'm..."  
  
"I'm fine," Frodo interrupted. "I had something caught in my throat but now it's gone."  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow disbelievingly and shook his head.  
  
"My mum says a bath is the..."  
  
"I don't care what your mum says!" Frodo shot back angrily. "Thank you for your help, but I'm fine now. If I want a bath, I'll take one myself. You may go on home."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Go!"  
  
Tears filled Sam's eyes and he ran from the kitchen, his wonderful plans for the day completely spoilt.  
  
~  
  
Frodo heard the door slam behind Sam's retreating form and immediately regretted what he had said and done. Poor Sam, all he had done was try and help, and he had yelled angrily at him, and sent him away!  
  
He stared at the cup in his hands and sighed deeply. Now he had done it for sure. Sam probably hated him now, and it was all his fault.  
  
Frodo stood and creaked wearily down the hall to his bedroom. He peeled off the damp layers of yesterday's clothing and slipped on a soft, warm shirt and woolen maroon breeches, his favorite color. Bilbo had had them made especially for him.  
  
He didn't have time for a bath, but Sam had made a wonderful point. Bilbo needed to be taken care of. He fetched some bandages and washcloths from the kitchen and re-built the dead fire in his uncle's bedroom.  
  
He felt the elderly hobbit's forehead and sighed in relief upon finding it pleasantly warm, but not hot. He untied the makeshift bandage and washed the area around the cut, wondering when Bilbo would wake up. Perhaps it was a very bad wound, and he wouldn't wake up for a while. The very thought chilled him, and he pushed it away. There was no time for 'what ifs' now. He needed to get Bilbo warm and dry, then run for the doctor. He had a strong temptation to not fetch the doctor. His uncle didn't have a fever, and it was just a wound after all.  
  
'A *head* wound,' his conscience reminded him.  
  
'But how am I to pay?'  
  
'Tell him you'll pay later.'  
  
Sighing, Frodo searched in his uncle's armoire until he found a warm nightshirt. He carefully folded back the blankets he had so carelessly wrapped around Bilbo last night, but hesitated before touching his clothing. Undress...his uncle? He blushed at the very thought, yet here he was about to do it. No, he couldn't. It wasn't proper. And what would Bilbo think? But it had to be done, or else he would get sick.  
  
"Sorry, uncle," Frodo whispered and peeled off his coat and vest, revealing his stiff white shirt stained dark red on his left side. Squinting, he quickly discarded that article of clothing and slipped the nightgown on, Bilbo's neck lolling lifelessly to the side. He removed the breeches beneath the blankets and breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. He never wanted to do that again.  
  
He tucked Bilbo in bed and tossed his wet laundry into the basket with his own damp clothes. Then, making sure Bilbo was secure and warm, he grabbed his old brown cloak and slipped out the door, walking as fast as he could for the doctor's.  
  
~*~  
  
Lotho pulled away from the window, his eyes laughing, mouth puckered in a huge O, and grinned mischievously at his friend.  
  
"Take a look at this," he whispered, and his friend snuck up close for his own peek, coming away with much the same expression. The two grinned evily to each other and set off down the road, giggling and hissing behind their dirty hands.  
  
~To be continued!~  
  
Next Update: Jan. 28. If I receive more than five reviews, I'll post earlier!  
  
DOES ANYBODY KNOW HOW TO transfer bold, italics, and underlining to fanfiction.net? I use Microsoft Word to type on, so if someone can tell me, I'd be very greatful! 


	7. Encounters

**The Master of Bag End**

_CONTINUATION of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings, or any characters or settings associated with it.

**_Thank you_** to Breon Briarwood, Mayberry, Kaewi, Daewen, and            for reviewing!

**Iorhael****:  Thank you so much!  As you can see, you tip has catapulted me over the hill of frustration….thank you!!  Now I can finally make my entries easier to read and more attractive to the eye.  Thank you!!!!  Thank you thank you thank you!**

**Andrea:**  Nice to see you!  I'm glad you reviewed!  I sure hope you keep on reviewing in the future!  I love to hear from all my readers, especially if they point out silly mistakes I forgot or skimmed over.  Glad you like Night of a Thousand Stars.  Bye!

**~Chapter 7~  Encounters**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo sped as quickly as his walking feet would carry him down the road.  He had heard Bilbo say Doctor Hardbottle lived in Hobbiton, so it was in that direction in which his feet were pointed, a heavy weight settled on his chest.  

It was _his_ fault Bilbo was lying immobile on his own bed.  If he only hadn't climbed up those stupid rocks.  If only he had not listened to Hamson and gotten curious.  If only he hadn't opened his big mouth to his own selfish wishes and told Bilbo where he wanted to go.  Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't come to Hobbiton at all.  Perhaps he really was a good-for-nothing Bucklander.  After all, he was only half Baggins.         

Frodo was so intent on his thoughts, he barely noticed Lotho until he ran into him.

"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized, and made to step around him.  

"Are you really?" Lotho sneered, blocking his path.  "For what?"

Frodo looked his cousin in the face and said sincerely

"I apologize for running into you."

Lotho laughed mockingly, and put an arm around Frodo's shoulders.

"If I were you, I would be sorry for undressing my own uncle."

Frodo's eyes went wide and he shook off Lotho's arm.

"Why do you say such things?" he asked angrily, yet fear seemed to be seeping through every pore.  Lotho rolled his eyes.

"It's no use denying it, Baggins.  I saw you, with my own eyes."

"How dare you come sneaking onto Bilbo's property!"

Lotho waved off the comment and leaned in closer.

"So is it true?" he asked in a half-whisper.  "Does Bilbo keep you for a play thing?"

"NO!" Frodo shouted, outraged.  "Where did you get such an idea?"

Lotho sighed again.

"Frodo," he said as though talking to a child, "the whole of Hobbiton's talking about it, how Bilbo adopted you for, you know, being alone in Bag End and all."

"That's a bloody lie!"

"Oh yeah?" Lotho sneered.  "Then explain why you two were sleeping together that one night."

"I was frightened," Frodo said stiffly, hating to explain anything to his perverted cousin.

"Ohhh, you were frightened!" Lotho whined, imitating a child.  "Poor Frodo-baby, too scared of the dark to sleep in his own bed!"

"Get away!" Frodo hissed, pushing him out of his way more roughly than necessary.

"Hey!" cried Lotho, as he stumbled off balance.  "Did you see that? He pushed me!  After him!"

Frodo glanced behind him to see Lotho and two other burly hobbit-boys sprint towards him.   He bolted down the road, but was no match for the trio.  He was hit from behind by a flying body and sent tumbling off the side of the road and down a steep embankment.  Cheers followed him straight into a muddy ditch, the remnants of last night's storm.

"Get him!"

Frodo struggled to his feet in the slippery mud only to be caught by the arms by Lotho's two buddies.  He was pulled out of the ditch and dragged a small, secluded field, held there struggling while Lotho rolled up his sleeves.

"The first few are mine, lads," he said to his pals.  "Then once I'm done you can finish him off."

"Let me go!" Frodo cried, although he knew it wouldn't do any good.

"Hmmm," Lotho said thoughtfully, a finger on his chin, "No."  He pulled back his fist and drove it straight into Frodo's belly.  The hobbit gasped for air and Lotho sneered.

"Do you make that noise when your uncle plays with you?" 

His buddies laughed, and Frodo was struck again, in the same spot.  He felt bile rise to his throat and swallowed thickly.  Despite the pain, the words hurt more than the blows.

"How is it, cousin?" Lotho spat, "Knowing you're the heir of _my_ stuff?" 

"It isn't your stuff," Frodo said dryly.  "It's Bilbo's, and he decides where it goes."

Lotho backhanded him twice, across both cheeks.

"I _hate_ that name!" he hissed, and spat at his cousin's feet.  Frodo stared at him defiantly while pulling against the arms that held him.  He had done nothing to deserve this treatment!

"Unhand me at once!" he said loudly, cheeks stinging and becoming numb from the blows.  Lotho shook his head.

"Do you really think I'll just let you go?"  His sentence was punctuated with two harsh kicks to his shins.  Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.   "Especially when I have you right where I want you?"

He stalked off into the brush and came back a second later with a heavy stick, his eyes gleaming maliciously. He raised it over his shoulder and Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, tensing himself for the abuse.

 The blows fell like rain.  Stomach, chest, shoulders, arms, stomach, shoulder, other shoulder, hip, chest again, thigh, shoulder.  Each bruise throbbed separately, and burned of its own terrible fire. 

He finally stopped, leaving Frodo gasping for air, supported only by the two lads holding him up on each side. 

"Drop him."

Frodo collapsed to the dust, trembling all over.  It wasn't over yet, not by a long shot.  But before the trio could commence their afternoon activity, a distant shout set Lotho's buddies running.  His cousin only paused long enough to whisper

"You worthless rag," and kick him one last time, leaving Frodo crumpled on the ground in an agonized heap.

He lay panting, each breath grazing the back of his throat with sandy dust.  He heard someone coming, but lacked the strength to stand. 

"Lad!" a deep voice called out, drawing nearer.  "Hello?" 

The heavy thud of hobbit-feet rushing across the field stopped abruptly as the hobbit kneeled down beside Frodo.

"Lad?" he asked, laying a hand on Frodo's shoulder gently.  Slowly, Frodo raised himself to his elbows.

"Thank you," he said in a raspy voice as he struggled to his feet.

"Easy does it, now," his rescuer soothed, helping him rise.  "Can ye walk?"

Frodo nodded.

"Then lean on me and I'll get ye to me house, and me wife'll fix ye up right proper," he said, supporting the trembling hobbit with a strong arm.

"Thank you, but I need to go home," Frodo said.  He was too ashamed to accept this fellow's help, as courteous as he seemed.  He was a stranger.  Besides, he might start asking questions.  Or what if he didn't have a wife, and wanted to….

"I can drive ye home after you're patched up."  The hobbit surveyed him from head to toe, and Frodo couldn't bear the scrutiny anymore.

"Thank you, goodbye," he said, and dashed off across the field, leaving Mr. Cotton staring after him in bewilderment and pity.

~

            Frodo collapsed inside Bag End's kitchen and didn't get up for a long time.  The words Lotho spat churned around and around in his brain.

_"Does Bilbo keep you for a play thing?"_

_ "The whole of Hobbiton's talking about it, how Bilbo adopted you for, you know, being alone in Bag End and all."_

_"Poor Frodo-baby, too scared of the dark to sleep in his own bed!"_

_"Do you make that noise when your uncle plays with you, you worthless rag!"_

Tears welled up in Frodo's eyes, and he brushed them away angrily.  He would _not be a cry-baby!  He was strong.  Petty words didn't affect him, they couldn't.  _

Then what were those drops splashing silently on the dusty floor beside him?

~To be continued~

**Please review (**_those** _of you who are reading without dropping a little note)_**!**  As I said, the more reviews I get, the faster I post_._  Would it be any encouragement if I told you I am working on chapter 12, so I can post the next chapter any time?  *hint hint***_


	8. Autumn

**The Master of Bag End**

_*CONTINUATION of The Night of a Thousand Stars*_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**Thank you **kymm, Breon Briarwood, Kaewi, Iorhael, and Ms Hobgoblin for reviewing!  I wish I could answer all your reviews right now, but I think I jinxed myself with this story and am coming down with something!  ; ) Just kidding.  By the way, I wonder if anyone's caught the 'Inconvieables' yet………..Although I am writing angst right now, I've written humor too.

**~Chapter 8~ Autumn**

~~~~*~~~~

            **Frodo rose stiffly to his feet and stumbled down the hallway, mind hazy with fatigue.  Bilbo was the only subject on his battered mind as he entered the bedroom with fresh bandages and a basin of water.  He nearly sat down but on second thought, closed the curtains on the round window.  He didn't need anymore sightseers.  **

            With fumbling fingers, he sat down on the side of the bed and tried to undo the knot on Bilbo's bandage, but he was too weak.  

_'I haven't eaten since last afternoon,'_ he thought numbly, and shrugged it off.  Bilbo was more important.  

Speaking of Bilbo, Frodo stared at his uncle's pale face.  His gray lips were closed in a tight line, and his eyes seemed to be rimmed in darkness.  The young hobbit felt his hand, and it was cool, but not cold.  His chest rose and fell in small breaths, and besides that, he had every appearance of being dead.

_'Dead.__  What if he dies?  What if he dies right here, in this bed, and he never wakes up?'_

"No!"  Frodo rasped, and coughed.  His side was hurting him again, although it was hardly distinguishable from the effects of his beating.  A little warning flared up, saying he needed to take care of himself, but he didn't care.  He didn't want to care.

He needed scissors to cut the bandage.

Frodo got up and was heading for the kitchen when he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror.  It startled him so badly he stopped in his tracts staring at his reflection.   Dirt caked his entire body, and dried mud hung from the ends of his hair, not to mention the angry red marks on each cheek and the dark trial of dried blood on his chin.  This would not do, being so dirty around an immaculate smial such as Bag End, especially when Bilbo was so sick.  He wouldn't want dirty hands changing his bandage.  Perhaps Sam had been right.  And now a nice, hot bath sounded splendidly inviting.

He sighed and redirected his steps towards the well outside, stopping to snatch up the two largest buckets he could find.

~

            By the time Frodo sank at last into the steaming water, he was so tired his eyes could barely stay open.  Who had known that dragging out the huge bathtub, heating kettle after kettle of water, and *keeping* the water in the tub warm while the other water was heating could be so much work!  And Sam had offered to do everything for him!  Inconceivable!  ; )   

Frodo folded a towel and put it on the rim of the tub behind his neck, slipping further into the warm cocoon of soothing liquid.  He leaned his head back on the towel and watched the bubbles slowly pop, one by one, in the white suds in front of him, until he dropped off into a deep sleep.

~*~

            **Gandalf hummed merrily to himself as he drove his cart along the dirt road, puffing serenely on his pipe.  He slapped the horses' reigns on his bumping chestnut flanks and read the sign as he passed it aloud.**

"Hobbiton- 20 miles.  Well, my fine animal.  We shan't reach Bilbo tonight."  

He eased the cart off the side of the road and settled down for the night in a dense thicket. 

~*~

            **The first thing Frodo noticed when he awoke was the cold.  He shifted uneasily and the cold seemed to flow around him, almost like**

"Water," he groaned stiffly.  Groggily, he climbed shivering from the tub and wrapped himself in a thick towel.  Teeth chattering, he pushed aside the washroom curtains and noticed it was night.  How long had he been emerged in the water?  He was so cold.  His limbs were sluggish and reluctant, and his bruises throbbed more painfully than ever.  

Quickly, Frodo pulled on his night shirt in the light of one lone candle left burning down to a stub, and felt his way to his room, where he crawled under the cold sheets with a sneeze.  

He shifted around for a long time, trying to find the most comfortable position, his mind recalling the events of the day.  

_'Poor Sam,'_ he thought.  He felt worse than ever about what he had said.  Sam had only been trying to help him, like a true friend.  And Frodo had sent him away, angrily too, without an apology or thanks.  The guilt added to the heavy weight on his heart, and his forehead pounded.  

Thinking these thoughts, he fell into a restless sleep.

~*~

            **Bilbo stood beneath Frodo on the rock pile, motioning frantically for his nephew to calm down.  He had felt a tremor in the earth moments before, and knew they were in danger.  But Frodo didn't seem to realize this, even though he reluctantly gave in and hopped down from the boulder.**

"Uncle, I think we should…." He said softly, when suddenly Bilbo was nearly thrown to the rocks by the earth erupting beneath his feet.  With panic, he saw Frodo flail helplessly in the air, and he leapt forward, catching his nephew just in time to yank him to safety.  However, the rescue cost him dearly, for the next instant he was thrown forward, tumbling out of control down the rock slope, bashing elbows and knees in every direction.  He finally rolled to s stop and was rising to his feet when a boulder the size of his head came bouncing down from the top of the cliff.

He had one fleeting glimpse of Frodo sliding down the slope on his bottom before a bolt of lightning seemed to strike his head, and he fell into a black void of nothingness.

~

            Bilbo knew he was lying in a bed, covered with warm blankets, but he couldn't open his eyes.  He seemed to be trapped in a world of knowing sightlessness, a kind of sleep from which he could not awake, the chasm between sleeping and waking, a coma.

_'Footsteps, Frodo, pain,'  his_ head throbbed with every heartbeat, a deep, echoing pain.  

"Hello Uncle." Frodo's voice, somewhere beside him.  He longed to reply, but his lips refused to obey. 

"I'm sorry I took so long," a sneeze and a sniff, "I was making breakfast.  I don't suppose you can eat anything, but I'll try again."

_'Again?'___

The bed dipped down on one side.  Bilbo felt gentles fingers on his jaw, prying it open, inserting a spoon with tasteless stuff on it.  His throat swallowed.  There was a deep sigh, of relief?

"Thank you."

This continued for a while, and was replaced by a cup of water.  Again, his throat swallowed.   Then the bed rose and the footsteps disappeared, leaving Bilbo alone to his sub-conscious thoughts.

~*~ 

            **"Sam-lad, fetch me the old wheelbarrow in the shed, will ye?"**

"Aye, sir," Sam replied, rising from the earth where he had been pulling weeds in the Gamgee's garden to obey his father.  He opened the splintery old door on creaky hinges and yelped in surprise.

"What is it?" the gaffer asked loudly.

"Eyes!" Sam said in awe, as the two green discs blinked slowly.   A mournful meow sounded pitifully up at the lad, and Sam opened the door wider to let the sunlight stream in.

"Aww," he couldn't help expressing as a orange little kitten squinted solemnly up at him, and the animal jumped out of the wheelbarrow to rub against his trouser leg.  It was a medium-sized female, a tabby kitten with sad, green, innocent eyes.

"Pa, she's so cute!" Sam exclaimed as he scratched her under the chin.  "And look how friendly she is!"

"Hmph," the Gaffer snorted.  "Probably a stray, and NO, Samwise, you may not keep her."

The question stopped on Sam's lips, but another idea came to his mind.

"May I give her to Frodo?"  he asked, petting the kitten between the ears as she purred contentedly.

The Gaffer sighed.

"_Mr._ Frodo, and only if Bilbo allows.  If he don't, give 'er to someone else."

"Thanks Pa!" Sam said eagerly.  "May I run over and give it to him now?"

"If you must," the Gaffer muttered, "but mind you don't linger and make yourself a nuisance, and come right back to finish these here weeds!"

"Aye, sir," Sam said and tucking the kitten close, he trotted as fast as his legs would carry him to Bag End.

~

           After the third knock, the bright green door was opened a sliver and Frodo peeked out, eyes widening in recognition.

"Hullo, Sam," he said, opening the door wider.  "Won't you come in?"

Sam stepped inside and noticed how dark it was.

"Why're all yer windows draped shut, Mr. Frodo?" he asked curiously.

"I have spies," was the answer.  "Sackville-Baggins spies."

"Ohhh," Sam said in understanding, and there was a long pause.

"I'm sorry for sending you away the other day," Frodo apologized, glancing down.  "I was tired, and didn't know what I was saying."

"I forgave you a long time ago," Sam replied honestly, and the bundle in his arms meowed.

"Look who I found," Sam said fondly, dumping the kitten in Frodo's arms.  "She was in our garden shed."

Frodo's eyes lit up as the kitten pawed at his hair.  Sam watched his reaction carefully, knowing his friend to be one of few words. He noticed even in the dim light the coarse nature of Frodo's hands as he stroked the soft fur, and wondered at the change. 

"She's beautiful, Sam," Frodo said at last in a soft tone, and Sam knew he had already fallen in love with the adorable companion.  The elder hobbit set her down and they both watched as she began exploring the foyer, her nose and whiskers outstretched, treading carefully as though the floor was of glass.  She began heading down the main hallway, and immediately Frodo scooped her up.

"She can't go down there," he explained.  "The wax is still drying."

"Wax?"  Sam asked before he could stop himself, and Frodo colored ever so slightly.  Was that a bruise on his cheek?

"I recently finished sanding and waxing it," he clarified.  "Bilbo told me he wanted it done recently, seeing as it hasn't been cleaned properly in years.

"Oh," said Sam.  He had seen his mother waxing floors before, he had even helped once, and knew how arduous the common task was.  Why had Frodo, a gentlehobbit, been doing such dirty work?  

"You didn't have to do it, sir," Sam said, sheepishly.

"Why not?"

Sam was unprepared for the answer.

"Because, well, because," he stammered, "it ain't proper, my mum was probably supposed to do it, or my gaffer."

"They do so much for us already," Frodo said as he petted the kitten, "they won't be upset, will they?"  Concern flickered in his eyes.

"Oh no!" Sam laughed, "but I should be going now.  My gaffer told me not to stay long."

 Frodo reluctantly held out the kitten and Sam stepped back.

"She's yours, sir, that is, if you like her and Bilbo lets you keep her."

Frodo stared at his friend in surprise.

"Mine?" he asked, nearly looking around to see if Sam wasn't talking to someone else.  "I…...I've never had a pet before.   Are you sure?"

Sam nodded, and Frodo noticed the enormous green eyes looking up at him, seeming to plead 'let me stay here!'

Frodo grinned.

"Thank you Sam, I'm sure Bilbo won't mind.  I think I'll call her Autumn.  Her fur looks like the color of leaves in the fall."

"Are you sure you shouldn't ask Bilbo first?"  Sam always needed to ask his parents before adopting a new pet, especially an energetic, playful little kitten.  

"Bilbo's……….busy," Frodo said stiffly.  "You said your gaffer didn't want to you linger."

He opened the door for Sam and the younger hobbit noticed how his clothes seemed to hang looser on his frame than before.  Something was wrong.  It was against Sam's nature to argue, but something told him not everything was fine and dandy in Bag End.  

"Goodbye, Frodo," he said, and before his friend shut the door, he asked hurriedly "would you mind if I cam over tomorrow to see Autumn?"

"I suppose," Frodo said hesitantly, "Good day," and he shut the door rather quickly behind him.

_~To be continued!~  _

**Next update: Feb. 1**

**Please review! *sighs*  I** don't mean to sound pushy, but it really does help me post faster.****

**Note:**  I know Frodo waxing the floors sounds a bit ridiculous.  However, with all our nice carpet and linoleum floors nowadays, sometimes we may forget how much care a _real wood floor takes.  Point being, Frodo noticed the floors were in bad shape and decided to do something about it to take his mind off of Bilbo.       _


	9. Discovered

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**~Chapter 9~ Discovered**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo threw half a bar of soap into the big iron kettle hanging over the fireplace, sweat already sticking to his brow.  It had been a week since the fateful accident, a week full of mistakes and discoveries.  Mistakes such as falling asleep in the bath tub, using furniture polish to wash dishes, dusting the silverware and shining the mantelpiece, and discovering he had used all the clean bandages.

Yet with the mistakes, came discoveries such as Bilbo's heavy pocket book, the contents of which much needed to re-stock the pantry.  

            Frodo dumped the dirty laundry into the kettle and began the tedious stirring.  He seemed to be so tired these days!  He had no idea how much trouble it was just to keep up a dwelling, especially with a frisky kitten running all over creation, chasing his feet, pawing at anything that moved, sinking teeth and claws into soft, unsuspecting calves as he walked past.  

            She had been cute at first, but now was becoming a sort of nuisance.  Of course, she was only a nuisance when she was awake and he was doing chores.  Already he had burned his hand this morning, when he turned from the kettle and she dashed between his legs, causing him to catch the rim of the iron pot to keep from falling.

            Frodo sighed.  Where was she off to now, when he wanted to watch her play, for a change?  No doubt getting into more mischief.  But still, how could one punish her when she looked up at him with those big green eyes and looked so genuinely sorry.  It was unthinkable.

            He stared out the kitchen window as he stirred the dirty laundry and thought sadly.

_'I could have been out playing, or reading a book right now, if I hadn't been so stupid.  If only Bilbo would wake up.  I would give anything to have him wake up.'_

While he wanted Bilbo to wake up, Frodo wanted desperately to sleep.  With all the chores that needed to be done around Bag End, he hadn't had more than six hours of sleep each night, if that.  And his little stunt with the bath tub hadn't served any good either, for he was troubled with a very sore throat and burning cough.  His side hadn't improved much either, and he nearly gasped in pain whenever he bent over.  It was a miserable existence, and he didn't see things improving much in the near future.

When had he decided to take care of Bag End?  It must have been a few days ago, when he realized if he didn't clean out the ashes in Bilbo's fireplace, he wouldn't have any more room for a fire!  After that, he noticed the woodpile diminishing, the laundry heap growing, chore after chore kept popping up seemingly out of nowhere until their weight became nearly visible on his chest.  He didn't like chores, no one did, but the work seemed to keep his mind from disabling shock.  He would rather get something done than sit and stare at Bilbo's gray face all day, worrying about when he would, or if he would, wake up.  

And when he wore himself thin with fatigue, dreams didn't haunt the threshold of foreboding slumber.

~

            A few hours later, Frodo was hanging the clean laundry outside, mouth full of clothespins, when a stern voice behind him made him nearly jump out of his skin.  

"Frodo."   

Sam stood behind him on the kitchen doorstep, apparently having come in through the front door.  His face was ashen, and Frodo at once knew he had seen Bilbo.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, eyes full of tears.  Frodo slowly dropped the bandage he had been hanging into the basket and spat out the clothespins into his hand, searching his brain for an answer.

"I………." he said, unsure of how to begin.  "I didn't, I mean……….I thought you would……..I didn't want to cause…….."  he felt a stinging behind his eyes and rubbed them angrily, burned hand protesting viciously.  "I'm sorry," he said at last, and found himself engulfed in a hug.

"I know," said Sam, guiding him over to the bench beneath the cherry tree.  Once they sat down, Frodo felt al the exhaustion and worry of the past week sweep over him in a wave.  He wanted to sleep forever, and never wake up again.

"It happened last week," he said at last, "Bilbo and I went to the Traveler's Valley and there was an earthquake.  Bilbo saved me and got hit in the head.  I brought him back and he hasn't woken up yet."  The prickling sensation grew stronger, and he buried his face in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows propped up on his knees. 

"I didn't tell you because it was my fault he got hurt, and he may be dying, and I didn't want you to hate me for it."  His last words came out in a rush.

"How can it be your fault?" Sam asked.  "It was an accident."

"No, it was my fault.  I climbed up a big boulder and wouldn't come down.  Bilbo climbed up to get me, and he fell.  If I hadn't climbed up, he wouldn't have fallen, can't you see?"  

They sat in silence for a while, Frodo trying his best not to cry and Sam wondering what to say.

"I wouldn't have hated you," Sam said softly.

"Yes, you say that because you are sorry for me," Frodo said thickly.  

"No I'm not……...well, I _am sorry for you, but I don't hate you for it now and I sure don't think I would have hated you had I known."_

Frodo sighed deeply, and Sam noticed how thin he had shrunk to, the bandage on his hand, and the dark purple bruise on his right forearm.  Frodo needed Sam's help, although the stubborn hobbit wouldn't admit it, and Sam intended to do just that.

"Why are you so tired?" Sam asked, hoping his weary friend would tell him. 

Frodo shrugged, face still hidden in his hands.  Sam put a comforting arm around his friend's shoulders, helping him rise.

"You need to sleep," he said sternly, guiding him gently into his bedroom.  Once Frodo got there, he seemed to come awake.

"I can't," he said, pulling away.  "There's too much to be done.  I have to finish the washing, and clean out the fireplace in Bilbo's room, and Autumn tracked dirt all over the parlor, and……."

"I'll do it," Sam said, taking a nightshirt out of the armoire.  "You'll work yourself to death if you don't sleep sometime."  It pained Sam to see his friend so haggard.  

Frodo shook his head.  He couldn't stop now, not while there was still so much to be done.  And if he slept in the middle of the day, Sam would think him a pathetic weakling.

"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo said, and promptly coughed.  

"Very well," Sam said, tossing the nightshirt on the bed and turning for the door.  "I'll go get my mum."

"No!" Frodo stopped him firmly, staring intently into his eyes.  "She _mustn't know about Bilbo."_

"Why?"

"Because of the same reasons I told you!"

Sam rolled his eyes.  

"Please," Frodo entreated earnestly.  "Don't tell her.  Bilbo will get better, and *he* can tell her.  Please, if you're my friend, keep my secret."

Sam paused, thinking.  Very slowly, he said

"I'll keep your secret, (Frodo's features melted in relief) ……..IF!  (he tensed up again) ……..you let me take care of you."

"What?!" 

Sam nodded, smiling.

"I don't need to be taken care of!  I'm not a child!"  He glared at Sam, who raised an eyebrow, glancing askance at his pitiful state.  

"And a fine job of it you've done so far, sir," Sam reprimanded.  Oh, he would catch it if his gaffer found out he was talking to the master's nephew this way!

Frodo sighed deeply.   Sam had left him with no other option.

"Very well," he mumbled.  "I suppose you want me to go to bed."

Sam nodded, heart singing for joy.  He was going to take care of Frodo!   Smiling, he left Frodo glaring in his room, and shut the door softly behind him.  What had his friend said needed to be done?  Ah, yes, the washing.  Whistling a happy tune, he skittered off in high spirits.

            Frodo watched the door click shut and sat defiantly on the bed.  Hot in anger, he didn't feel in the least bit sleepy.  He picked up the nightshirt and held the soft material to his nose, inhaling the sharp scent of soap and sweet lavender perfume as one.   It was Bilbo's scent, minus the tobacco and ink.

_'I wonder what I smell like,'_ he mused, and lay down on the bed, watching the quivering leaves dance in the window's shadow on his floor.  Soon his fatigue and a strange dizziness over came will power, and he dropped off into a deep sleep.

~

            Sam opened the door a small crack, Autumn sneaking into the room as he did so, and smiled at Frodo's well-earned respite.  He had fallen asleep fully dressed, and without any covering.

"Foolish hobbit," Sam muttered fondly, and crossing the room, lifted his shoulder gently to pull the blankets out from underneath him.  A deep, harsh cough erupted from Frodo's throat, and his watery eyes opened a slit.

'So he_ is_ sick,' Sam thought to himself, and shook his head silently.

"You're sick, Mr. Frodo," he said softly.  "May I help you into your nightshirt?"

Upon receiving no response, he rolled Frodo over onto his back and unfastened the buttons on his shirt, preparing to slip it off over his head.  However, when he pulled back the soft covering and caught sight of the ugly bruises scattered across his chest and stomach, he gasped in surprise.  Some of these were newer than others!  Who had done this to him?  He noticed a swelling redness in the middle of his rib cage, blushed with a grayish tone, and touched the area softly.  Frodo's eyes flew open and his breath hissed loudly as he drew it in sharply.

"Don't," he gasped, and folded his shirt over his chest, brow furrowing in pain.  Sam's heart wrenched at Frodo's agony, and he asked

"Who hurt you?"

Frodo stared at him blearily.

"What?" he asked, voice hoarse and raspy.

"The bruises," Sam explained, and Frodo's forehead winced, but his lips remained sealed.

Sighing at his friend's stubbornness, Sam changed him into his nightshirt as quickly as possible, yet before he was done Frodo's brow was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat.  As he tucked him into bed, Frodo coughed roughly, and a fleck of blood appeared on the pillow.  

"I'm goin' to get the doctor," Sam muttered to himself, and Frodo grasped his arm.

"No!  You promised!" he said stiffly.  "No doctor!  Dr. Hardbottle's……… too expensive."

"Very well," Sam sighed, and once Frodo was asleep again with Autumn curled up beside him, he left the room, heading straight home.  Frodo was too badly sick and injured to let a foolish promise worsen his condition.  

'Well,' he thought smugly, 'he asked me not to get _Dr. Hardbottle.  I know a better person than that fat old man.'_

Sam was going to get his mother.

~To be continued!~

****Please review!   **


	10. The Mask

**The Master of Bag End**

_CONTINUATION of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

_Thank you_ Breon Briarwood, heartofahobbit, Kaewi, Monica, Mayberry, elfitchick, and Iorhael for reviewing!!  Sorry I couldn't respond to you last chapter.  My comp wouldn't let me edit my story before I published it,  bleh.

**~Chapter 10~  The Mask**

~~~~*~~~~

            Mrs. Gamgee pulled open Bag End's front door, and glanced back to see if Sam had dropped anything yet.  His wide brown eyes were filled with worry, but other than that he had a tight hold on Mrs. Gamgee's 'accident basket,' as she called it, a basket filled with herbs, ointments, salves, anything needed incase of an emergency.  She turned back around and came face to face with Frodo standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Frodo!" she exclaimed, staring at him.  Hadn't Sam said he was sick?

"How may I help you?" he asked politely, tilting his head ever so slightly.  He made no offer to invite her in.

"From what Sam tells me, I should be the one helping _you!" Mrs. Gamgee said expressively, yet the young gentlehobbit shook his head._

"I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding," he said coolly.  

"Why, aren't you sick?" Mrs. Gamgee extended a palm to feel his forehead, and found it cool to the touch. What was going on here? 

"As you see, I have no fever," Frodo said, "therefore I have no need of assistance."

"But you're_ hurt_!" Her son exclaimed in protest, voice rising shrilly.  "I saw……….."

"Nothing," Frodo interrupted, staring him down sternly.  Sam recoiled and felt tears come to his eyes.  He had nearly betrayed his friend, again.

"I'm fine, ma'am, but if you insist you may see to Bilbo."

Ashamed, Sam followed quietly on his mother's footsteps as she entered the hole, casting his eyes down to avoid his friend's gaze. Why had he brought his mother at all?  Perhaps Frodo had just had a sinking spell.  He seemed perfectly fine now.  But what about the bruises?  They seemed old.  Perhaps they weren't paining Frodo anymore. Sam was so confused.  He stole a glance at his friend, just in time to miss a wince of pain as he shut the door.  Frodo met his gaze with disappointment shading his eyes, as though he knew Sam had betrayed him.  

Little Samwise stared at the floor and moved on.   

~

            Mrs. Gamgee emerged an hour later with a drawn face, having seen to Bilbo's injury as well as she could.  She had left Frodo with some herbs to bathe his wound in every morning and evening, and he had accepted them gratefully.  She was horrified at what happened to Bilbo, that kind, energetic hobbit she had known for so many years.  Now he was as still as stone, melting into his cold bed while his own nephew watched him deteriorate before his very eyes.

Speaking of Frodo, how he had changed!  He had been soft-spoken before, but now a mask seemed to have been pulled down in front of his face, cutting off all personal communication, only allowing the barest facts to penetrate it.  As experienced as she was, there was absolutely no emotion behind those steel eyes, once so vivid and brilliant.  He had been this way before, when he first came to Bag End, yet the love he experienced melted it down until only a ghost of his former silence was left.

Now, it seemed all progress previously made had been lost.  If there truly was anything wrong with him, there was no way to find out unless he told them, and unlikely occurrence, or they physically forced it from him.

~*~

            Frodo shut the door firmly behind Mrs. Gamgee and Sam and sank to his knees, completely exhausted.  The act had cost him dearly, but if this was what it took to be strong and show himself a worthy benefactor of his uncle's wealth, then so be it.  His limbs were shaking so badly he hardly had any control over them.  Every time he took a breath he nearly cried out in pain, and his throat felt as raw as sandpaper.  He finally released the itch in his throat and coughed deeply, ribs screaming in protest, drawing tears to his eyes.

Why had Lotho's fist landed in the spot already sore from the earthquake?  It had been getting better, until his run in yesterday with the gang.  

He knew he was sick, but who really cared?  Bilbo was dying, Sam hated him now for making him look like a liar in front of his mother.  Mrs. Gamgee had seen Bilbo.  

_'If I died now, no one would probably notice,'_ he thought bleakly, and to his surprise, smiled. It was so ironic.  If he died, Bilbo would probably wake up the moment his soul fled the earth.  _'That's my kind of luck._'

Biting his lip to keep from crying out, Frodo rose to finish the chores he began earlier today, from which he had so rudely been interrupted.  

~*~

            The next morning, Frodo woke to find himself at the kitchen table, a slice of cold bread set out in front of him.  Why was he here?  He rubbed his eyes with his fist and blinked sleepily at the glaring morning light streaming in through the window.

_'Bilbo,'_ he thought groggily, remembering how he was supposed to bathe his wound every morning and night.  He rose stiffly and, glancing at the piece of bread, remembered 

_'Oh, I must have fallen asleep while eating dinner.'_

He grabbed the bread and chewing it quickly, began another long day as caretaker of Bag End.

~*~

            Mrs. Gamgee stood Sam in front of her squarely and knelt down to look him in the eye.

"Now, I want you to tell me the truth, Samwise," she said, and he squirmed under her gaze, but remained steadfast.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you saw.  How hurt _is _Mr. Frodo?"

"If I tell you, will you call the doctor?" Sam asked.  He had betrayed his friend's trust so far he felt very reluctant to reveal more.

"Sam," his mother sighed, "the Bagginses are very stubborn hobbits, and sometimes can't see what they don't want to see.  Obviously, Mr. Frodo has convinced himself he doesn't need a doctor because he doesn't _want_ a healer.  I can't imagine why, but there it is.  I promise not to fetch a healer if your description of Frodo's wounds is not bad.  But if he needs a doctor, I must get one, for his sake."

Sam nodded slowly.

"Well, after I helped him in bed, I was goin' to help him into a nightshirt so he could be more comfortable.  When I tried to take his shirt off I saw a whole cluster of dark purple bruises all over his chest and stomach.  And his ribs were all red and swollen on one side.  And when he coughed once there was a little blood.  I think it's from his ribs because when I touched them he woke up gasping."

Mrs. Gamgee listened with a pale face as Sam completed his tale, and stood slowly.

"Thank you, Sam," she said.  "You may have just saved Mr. Frodo's life."

~*~

            Bilbo felt a warm rag gently bathing his forehead and would have sighed if he could.  It felt wonderful, to have a change from the monotonous nothing he felt every waking moment.  He knew Frodo was beside him, watching, making sure nothing happened to him.  It reminded him of his father or mother, years ago when he had been ill.  

He felt safe and secure, innocent.  He had always been here, in this warm place between sleeping and waking, where memories blended with the present until he could no longer tell them apart.  They drifted in and out, Frodo was here, but those were the hands of Belladonna, Bilbo's mother gently tugging a comb through his hair.  

Now he was young again, so young he was being spoon-fed by his father.  There were daisies in the window and the morning sunlight reflected through the cut-crystal glass sitting on the dining room table, throwing sparks and beams of light in a kaleidoscope pattern on the wall.  

Light, comforting, heavenly light flowed all about him.  Nothing could touch him in this serene place, laying in bed with his cousin Frodo watching over him.

~*~

            Frodo dreamed he was walking in a field, stripped and barren with harvest.  A cold wind was blowing through his hair and crawling through the button-holes in his shirt, making him shiver violently against the temperature.  He was looking for something, but couldn't find it because his body seemed to be molded into a cast, a hard, unrelenting cask that moved when he moved, invisible.  

He felt it pressing down on him, smothering him until he could no loner breathe for the pain in his side.  

"Help!" he screamed, but no one answered him.  He sank to his knees in the field, and when he raised his eyes, he et the leering face of his malicious cousin Lotho.

"Hello Frodo," said Lotho, his voice sounding strangely seductive.  "Miss me?"  It was then he realized the voice did not belong to Lotho, but to the Stranger.  

"Help!" Frodo cried again, and was struck violently across the mouth, turning his face to steel.  He couldn't breathe.  His jaw hung open, but no air leaked into his flaring esophagus.

"Help," he wanted to mouth, but a glare from Lotho rendered him immobile.  An excruciating pain flared through his rib cage, but he couldn't cry out.

Lotho's laughter rang through the air as he shoved Frodo to the ground, kicking him time after time in the back.  

"Miss me?" The words echoed on the wind as his face was buried in the ground.  There were little stubs of wheat stalks still poking from the dirt.

Suddenly the scene changed, and he was standing beside a river.  Two bodies were laying half in the water, and he ran to them, despite hands dragging him back.  

"No Frodo, come back!"

But he was already there, rolling over the body of the woman, finding her lifeless glazed eyes staring up at nothing at all, lips practically black.  There was a maggot on her cheek.

Frodo couldn't breathe.

"Help!" he screamed, and jolted awake.

Sweat poured down his forehead and he struggled for air.  Panicking, he realized with horror he couldn't breathe.  His throat gaped for air, but his lungs wouldn't draw it in.  He hit himself on the chest, feeling as though something was stuck blocking his air way, and came up with a mouthful of blood.  He spat it out and gulped in lungful after lungful of sweet air.

Slowly, his panic subsided and his breathing slowed.  He tasted salt on his tongue and realized he was crying.  His side throbbed worse than ever, and he still felt encased within a mold.  What was happening to him?  If only someone was here to comfort him!  If only his mother was alive.  How badly he wanted someone to hold him and say everything was going to turn out for good.  But no one was there.  His mother was dead, buried in the earth beside his father, with nothing but insects and burrowing mammals for company.  They were never coming back.

~To be continued!~

_PLEASE REVIEW!_


	11. Aide

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed! 

Small warning: dark angst in this chappie

**~Chapter 11~ Aide**

~*~

            Gandalf climbed down from his cart and sighed in satisfaction, glancing fondly at the familiar, round green door.  He opened the gate and strode up the walkway, dirty robes swishing with each long step.

BANG! BANG! BANG!  

He knocked his staff on the door three times, stepping back to wait for his old friend.  When moments passed without a reply, he knocked again, with the same response.

_'Bilbo must be out,_' he thought, and sat down on the front step, settling himself in to wait with the solace of his long curved pipe.

~

            Frodo parted the curtain cautiously and dared a peek out.  To his surprise, a huge smoke ring appeared in the air in front of him and drifted up and out of sight.  Lotho couldn't blow smoke rings like that…….there was another one!  And it was _purple_!  

In a flash, the stories Bilbo had told him of Gandalf and the smoke rings rushed upon his memory.

_'Gandalf!'_ he thought excitedly_.  'He's here!'_

Forgetting all his previous precautions,  Frodo spun from the window and was about to open the front door when Autumn, sensing her master's excitement, flew between his legs.  Going too fast to stop himself, Frodo tripped over the furry body and fell hard to the floor.  A bolt of pain shot up his right forearm, and he bit his lip in agony to keep from crying out.  

"Stupid cat," he muttered, watching her tail disappear around a corner.  The silly lightheadedness of intense pain laid hold of his brain, and he could do nothing but rock slowly back and forth, moaning silently.  Gradually the pain dimmed to a dull throb, and he wanted only to crawl back into bed.  How foolish he had been, to pretend nothing was wrong, especially when help had come to him without his asking.  If only he could sleep and wake to find this had all been but a dream.

 But he couldn't leave a wizard standing on the doorstep.  He rose to his feet and a hot wave of dizziness swayed him.

"No," he whispered determinedly.  He wouldn't let pain stop him, especially since the wizard had come all this way to visit.  He flexed the fingers on his injured arm and was relieved to find nothing broken.

_'See?'_ he told himself.  _'I can handle this,'  and_ the mask came down.

~ 

            Gandalf stood at the faint patter of hobbit feet and emptied his pipe.  The door opened and to his surprise, an older hobbit lad with a pale, thin face and dark hair greeted him instead.

"Welcome, Gandalf the Grey," the lad said formally, inviting him inside.  

"Thank you," the wizard replied as he stooped into the small doorframe.  "And to whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

"Frodo Baggins at your service," Frodo bowed gracefully, yet Gandalf's eye caught the tiniest wince of pain cross his hard features as he did so.

"Ah, so you're Bilbo's cousin!" Gandalf remarked cheerfully.  "He's told me many wonderful things about you."  The wizard studied the hobbit's features carefully, noting with sadness the deep well of agony hidden so artfully behind the stone mask.  Illusions couldn't fool an Istari.  What could be troubling the young lad to be burdened with such pain?  Was it the death of his parents?  No, they had died nigh on ten years ago.

"Won't you have some tea?" Frodo offered, and being polite, the visitor couldn't refuse.

"I will, thank you," he said, and the lad took his hat, hanging it upon one of the many hooks adorning the wall.  

"Bilbo's out right now," the hobbit lied masterfully.  What could have prompted Frodo to perfect the art of acting so, at such a young age?  There was much about this hobbit he wanted to know.  There was a looming dread hanging about the halls of Bag End, unsettling the wizard's nerves.  When his conscience told him something was wrong, he paid it great attention.

Studying a collection of swords hung on the wall, Gandalf thought and waited patiently for Bilbo's mysterious cousin to bring the tea.   

~

            In the kitchen, Frodo slowly unbuttoned his cuff to examine his arm.  To his dread, already it was red and swelling, becoming stiff and immobile.  Well, there was no going back now.  After all, one didn't get a wizard in their home every day.

_'A _wizard_!__  A wizard, one of the Istari is in Bag End right now! _ He wished the pain in his arm, and now his chest, would vanish as he set the tray with cheese and little cakes.  Bilbo had taught him the proper way to entertain a guest a when he first arrived, yet little good it did when he couldn't enjoy it properly.  

_'Stupid cat.__  Why did she run under my legs?  Bother her, bother everything.  Why doesn't she curl up in the sun and go to sleep like a decent cat?'_  If he regretted adopting her now, little did he know how fond he was of the animal.

Within moments, Frodo slowly returned to the parlor, being careful to use his left arm.  

"How are you?" Gandalf asked as Frodo served the tea.

"Very well, and you?"  Another lie.

"Fine indeed," answered the wizard thoughtfully.  "I see Bilbo's told you much about me, for you aren't as shocked as he when he first met me."

"Yes, sir, he has told me much about you.  I saw your smoke rings outside the window and knew it was you."

_'A smart lad for details,'_ Gandalf noted, _'but a foolish one for using an injured arm.  Perhaps he doesn't know he should let it rest.  But why does he hide it?_'

"You shouldn't use an injured limb, especially when the incident just occurred," the wizard warned, motioning to the hobbit's arm.  Frodo stared briefly at him in shock, and his cheeks blushed ever so slightly, but he said nothing.

"Are you enjoying Hobbiton?' the wizard asked to make conversation.

"Yes, very much so," Frodo replied, truth in his words.  

"I suppose the move was difficult, but Bilbo is a fine replacement for solitude.  Have you made any friends?"  Gandalf hoped to find someone who could help the lad.

"Samwise Gamgee, the son of Hamfest Gamgee, Bilbo's gardener is a fine companion," Frodo answered, and the guest nodded knowingly.

"I hope you resolve your argument," he said, noting from the strained tone the lad used a recent conflict had occurred.

Frodo stared at him skeptically.

"How do you know so much about me?" he asked slowly.

"Some I know from letters Bilbo sent me, some I have guessed from our conversation.  There is much that can't be hidden behind a stone mask, young hobbit," Gandalf said, eyes twinkling.  Frodo rose from his chair, and put a hand out as though to stay himself from a fall.

"Are you ill?" the wizard asked, concern flickering in his eyes.  Perhaps he was breaking at last.

Frodo shook his head.

"Please excuse me for a moment," he said, and left the room.  Gandalf stood as well and followed the hobbit silently, knowing for a fact all was not well with his host.

~

            Frodo sank into a chair at the table, his agony nearly overwhelming.  He wanted to scream until nothing was left of him.  He couldn't go on, not like this.  He couldn't keep pretending anymore.  It was killing him.  Why hadn't he realized it sooner?  Suddenly, it dawned on him.  He had known he was dying, but hadn't cared.  The emotions were all there, the bitter hopelessness, desperation.  

_'I'm a suicide,'_ he thought slowly, and the very words chilled his skin, sending shivers up and down his limbs.  Frodo had been killing himself all this time.  He hadn't said it yet, the Words that would clarify his actions and make their purpose clear, yet how long would it have been until he took his own life?   Not instantly, but slowly, discreetly diminishing until one day he would drop and never rise again.  Tears clouded his eyes.  

"I don't want to die," he whispered softly.  There was so much he had to live for, and learn!  Gandalf, THE Gandalf from all Bilbo's stories was sitting in the room just down the hall, waiting for him.   Sam loved him, Bilbo loved him, the Gamgees liked him, if only a little.  Why, Bilbo wanted to make him his heir!  

And all this time he had blinded himself to the obvious facts, staring through a painting without seeing the wonderful colors and images waiting to embed themselves in his imagination.   His own self-pity was what was killing him, and his pride.  Finally, he realized there was a time for humble pride and a time for gratifying humility and submission.   

He needed help now, and was finally ready to take it.

~   

            Gandalf stepped into the doorway and met Frodo, face to face, mask completely obliterated at last.  The hobbit's breathing was shallow and labored, his face deathly gray, and a sudden fit of violent coughing dropped him to the floor.  

Being trained in the healing arts, Gandalf kneeled beside him and raised his chest so he could breathe easier.

"Get……..Sam………." Frodo gasped between coughs, crimson blood on his lips, and fell limp in the wizard's arms.

~*~

            Gandalf laid the unconscious hobbit gently on his bed in the room the wizard guessed to be his own.  Removing his waistcoat and shirt, his trained eyes immediately noted the swelling on his rib cage, and he felt the area gently.  His eyes grazed over the purple bruises and lingered on his injured arm.  He felt it gently and was relieved to find only a sprain, and no broken bones.   But then again was the matter of his raw throat.  Was it only a cold, or perhaps something more serious?  Gandalf's brow furrowed in concern and, covering the hobbit with a blanket, he strode into the kitchen to fetch the supplies he needed.   He stopped once on the way, and the burden of what he discovered laid heavily on his mind.  But there was a lad to care for now. 

            Scarcely had he opened the first cupboard when a knock on the door drew his attention.  He would have ignored it, if the hinges hadn't squeaked as the door swung open.

"Mr. Frodo?"  a young hobbit-lad's voice called out.

Gandalf stepped into the hallway and met the lad, his mother, and another hobbit whom he assumed to be a doctor.  He bowed as smoothly as possible in the tiny dwelling, hurrying through the motions.  

"You'll find Frodo in his bed, Samwise," he said, sending the lad running in shock for his friend's room.

"You've come not a moment too soon," the wizard said gravely to the adults who stood wide-eyed, staring up at him.  "I am Gandalf the Grey, just arrived on a visit from abroad."

Making sure Sam was well out of ear shot, bending over he said in a low voice

"I will see to Bilbo, but for now you must take care of Frodo.  Three broken ribs have been puncturing the lad's lungs, not to mention countless other maladies.  Apparently he's retained the injury for a couple days, therefore if you don't attend to him soon he _will_ die."

**~To be continued!~**

**CHECK THIS OUT!!!  **_I found a picture of Frodo inside Bag End, talking to Gandalf.  His expression and pose are exactly like what I imagined here!  I couldn't re-find the link, but I saved the picture and if you want to see it send me your email address.  I'll send it too you, and let me know if this is what you pictured.  _


	12. Drowning

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings

_HURRAY!  REVIEWS!_  *dances around for joy*  _Thanks_ Breon Briarwood, elfitchick, Mayberry, kymm, Gothic Hobbit, and Kaewi for reviewing!  

**NOTE: To Breon Briarwood, elfitchick, and Mayberry**, I added a note at the end of chapter 11.  I don't want to repeat it all here, but I can send you a picture of a scene in the story.  Check out the note at the end of the last chapter!

**~Chapter 12~  Drowning**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo heard voices, dim, murky voices coming distinctly clear to his ears.

"...buried too deep..."

".....breathing's becoming more labored....."

"....must operate immediately....."

He opened his eyes a careful squint and noticed through the brown-yellow light flooding the room three figures.  There were two decent sized adults, and one small figure coming over to his side.

"Frodo?" the figure asked, and Sam's round brown eyes swam into view.  Frodo parted his lips to speak, but began coughing violently before he could utter a word.  Pain so intense tears rolled down his cheek flared up in his side, and he would have cried out if not for the roughness in his throat.  

At once, a rage was pressed to his mouth and he felt hands on him, turning him onto his uninjured side.  A soothing palm ran in slow circles around his back, and eventually the coughing subsided, leaving him gasping for air in little hitches accented with pain.

"I must operate, Mrs. Gamgee," a male voice said.  "The puncture in his lungs is flooding them with blood.  He's drowning within himself.  I must release the fluids!"

"But isn't there another way?"  Mrs. Gamgee asked, wringing her hands.  "You can see how much it pains him to cough...."

"I'm sorry," said Dr. Hardbottle, "unless you want me to stick a tube in his chest to drain the blood there is no other way.  It's worked countless times before, with a very low failure rate.  It _will_ succeed!"

"Can't you have him inhale something to thin the blood?"

"If I were to do that, not only would it thin the blood, it would dissolve his weakened lung tissue as well."

Sam's mother sighed deeply.

"Mistress Gamgee, we don't have much time."  

The doctor motioned to Frodo's sweat-drenched form, chest rising and falling shallowly.

"I must operate to set his ribs.  While he's still asleep I can drain the fluids as well."

~   

As the adults talked, Sam held Frodo's hand tightly, wiping his face down with a cool rag.

"You'll be right as rain soon," he encouraged.  Frodo nodded but dared not say anything.  His chest felt very stiff and rigid, and he ached all over.

It was very disheartening, listening to the adults argue about procedures they were going to perform on him, so he was very glad to have Sam as a comforting distraction.  It puzzled him, how rude he had been to Sam, yet the hobbit seemed to have forgotten all grievances against him, at least for the present moment.

"Frodo?"

Frodo looked up and found Mrs. Gamgee offering him a mug of something foul-smelling.

"Drink this, dear.  It'll help you sleep."

'It will help _put_ me to sleep,' Frodo thought, but realizing he had no choice, he drank it down quickly.   Almost immediately, he felt his eyelids beginning to droop and a sweet, thick weightlessness settled on his mind, quickly consuming all vestiges of consciousness hiding in the farthest reaches of his brain.

~*~

            Dr. Hardbottle mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and gratefully accepted the steaming mug of herbal tea handed to him by the weary-eyed Mrs. Gamgee.  His patient slept soundly on the bed before him; after two hours of unceasing effort, his lungs were clear of most of the blood. 

"How is he?" asked Mrs. Gamgee.

"He's a strong hobbit.  Although it's a little early to say, I have a confident feeling he's going to recover."

Sam's mother sighed in deep relief and sank into a chair.  

"Thank you, doctor," was all she could say.  After a silence, the healer spoke up.

"Where's little Samwise?"

"He's sleeping, finally.  I say, it took a while to calm him down.  He cares a great deal for Mr. Frodo."

The doctor nodded.

"Now I can see to Bilbo," he said, gathering his things and carting them into the next room.  He emerged half and hour later with a grave look on his face.

"He's in a coma," he told Mrs. Gamgee solemnly, "and there's no possible means to say when he's going to awaken."

The woman wrung her hands silently, absorbing the dreadful news.  The healer sighed and said

"There's nothing more I can do for now.  I'll go on home, but I'll be back tomorrow morning bright and early to check on them.  If Frodo starts coughing up red blood, send for me.  If the blood is dark, it's a good thing.  It means his lungs are getting rid of the old blood, and nothing new is seeping in."

Dr. Hardbottle gathered up his instruments and with one last examination of his patients, was escorted from Bag End.

~*~

            Frodo opened his eyes to find himself in bed, sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window.  He felt very stiff and sore, but found he could breathe better than before, even if he wasn't up to his usual stamina.  He was very thirsty, and was looking around for something to drink when his door opened cautiously.  Sam peeked his head in the room and a broad grin spread across his face.

"Mr. Frodo!" he exclaimed, nearly running to his bed.  "You had me and my ma so worried!  I'm so glad you're doin' better, sir.  You looked mighty terrible last night.  Would you like anything?"

"Water," Frodo whispered in a raspy voice, the simple task burning the back of his throat.  Sam's eyes lit up and he bounded from the room with a 

"Yes sir!  Water it is, sir!"

Frodo relaxed against the pillows, sinking into the downy feathers.  Pillows had never felt so wonderful before.  He felt so tired.  It would be wonderful to sleep for days, but he knew that could not be.  Bilbo needed to be taken care of.  He wondered if the doctor had discovered his uncle, hoping dreadfully he hadn't.   If he had, the story would spread all over Hobbiton, and who knows what would happen?

Sam returned, bearing a pitcher of water and a glass.  He poured the water and offered the cup to his friend, who took it with a shaking hand.  After a few sips, Frodo lowered the cup and said softly 

"Must you watch every move I make?"

Sam glanced down at his lap and blushed.

"Sorry, sir."

Once the glass was drained, Sam asked eagerly if Frodo wanted any breakfast, to which the response was 

"No, thank you."

"But sir, you're awfully thin, and if you don't eat, you won't get well!"  Sam protested.

Frodo thought for a moment.  He felt so helpless and awkward already, simply sitting there sending his friend on errand after errand.

"My mother cooked griddle-cakes with strawberries and cream," Sam suggested, hoping to tempt his friend into nourishment.

"Your mother?' Frodo asked tentatively.  "She's still here?"

"Of course, sir.  She stayed up all night making sure you were on the bright side of things."

"She stayed up all night, and cooked breakfast the next morning?"

Sam nodded, pride sparkling in his eyes.

_'I wonder what it would be like to have a mother like that,' _Frodo thought sadly.  He could barely remember his mother, save for a few special memories.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I'm not hungry," he lied, feeling terribly guilty.  "Will you give her my sincere apologies?  I'm sure your family would enjoy the cakes much more than I."

Sam's face fell.

"Those cakes won't set right in a different tummy, Mr. Frodo.  She made them for you.  Will you please eat them?"

"Sam, I'm not hungry."

"Please?"

Sam stared at him with such disappointment Frodo couldn't let him down again.

"Very well," he consented at last, sighing, and Sam smiled, trotting eagerly into the kitchen.  

Frodo's eyelids were drooping now, weary with the argument.  Perhaps if he fell asleep while Sam was gone, they would give up and leave.

_'Whether I want to or not, I can't stay awake much longer,'_ he thought.  A few minutes later sleep had spread its dark mantle over him, and dreams clouded his subconscious mind.

~To be continued!~

**Please review! **

(Sad)** IMPORTANT note:  **_After chapter 13_I might not be able to update for a while.  I haven't really thought out the rest of the story very well (past a certain point), so I'm going to finish it first before posting chapters 14+.  Right now, I think this story will have 20 summat chapters, but it will probably change.  There's a new character I must introduce, and all this stuff.  I want to make sure the story flows well for you readers, **_so if anyone wants to be my beta I'll really appreciate it!!! _**I'd prefer that you'd have written some stories before though...


	13. Lost

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of The Night of a Thousand Stars_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**~Chapter 13~ Lost**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo bit his lip to stifle a cry of pain as, leaning heavily on his elbows, he raised himself to a sitting position.  He felt his side gingerly and was surprised to find his midsection wrapped entirely in white bandages.  

_'What are they here for?'_ he wondered, but decided he didn't want to know after all.  He vaguely remembered a surgery being discussed while he was semi-conscious, and the less details he knew, the better off he would be.  

It was now late afternoon, and all was quiet in the hole.  He could only assume the Gamgees had gone home.  After all, they _had _stayed overnight, and Mrs. Gamgee was a mother with a hoard of young children to take care of, just as he had to take care of Bilbo.

Frodo carefully peeled back the layers of blankets on top of him and swiveled around to let his feet touch the floor.  Slowly and carefully, he eased himself onto his feet, head reeling with dizziness.  

_'I'm so weak,' _he thought, gasping as pain shot through his side.  His knuckles were white from clutching the bed post so hard.  But he had to care for Bilbo.  Of course, in order to do so, he must let go of the bed first.

Very reluctantly, he slid his left hand (his right was rendered immovable from the tight bindings) from the bed post to the night stand, and from there to the wall, leaning heavily on anything for support.  His legs trembled beneath him, and he felt as though they were out of his control.

He was panting heavily by the time he reached Bilbo's room.  With a sigh of relief, he opened the door and peered inside. Bilbo's bed was stripped to the bare white sheets, sunlight falling in a lonely pattern on the stark mattress, and his uncle was no where in sight. 

 The shock was too much for him, and in his sickness, he fainted dead away on the doorstep.

~~*~~

            Sam heard a muffled thud come from down the hallway, and crept forward silently to investigate.  He remembered Frodo telling him the Sackville-Bagginses were spying on him.

_'If they even dare to come into Mr. Bilbo's home……'_ he thought with clenched teeth, and doubled his fists in readiness.  However, it was not Lotho whom he nearly tripped over in the hallway.

"Mum!  Mum!" he almost screamed, and his mother came running towards him.

"What in the four farthings!" she exclaimed under her breath as she gently cradled Frodo's head in her lap.  The lad groaned and opened one eye cautiously.

"Frodo Baggins!  Whatever were you doing out of bed?" Mrs. Gamgee chastised fondly.

"Bilbo….." he said hoarsely, and the woman nodded.  "He's gone."

Sam's mother's face clouded in pity, which Frodo mistook for sorrow, and a single tear rolled down his face.

"Aye, dear," she said sadly.  "He's gone, last night.  I'm arin' out his mattress now."

Suddenly the boy in her lap exploded. Jumping up in anger and sorrow, he sprinted down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him.  Sam was after him in a flash, calling his name over and over.

"Frodo!  Come back!  Stop!"

But Frodo paid no attention, so great was his agony of heart.  He dashed into his room and banged the door closed behind him, locking it furiously with his key.  He threw himself on his bed, regardless of any physical pain, and wept into the sheets.

Bilbo was gone, dead.  He, his own nephew, had failed him, no, _killed _him.  He hadn't been strong enough to care for his uncle and his house.  All his efforts had been in vain.

But greater than the knowledge of his failure was the loss of the only father he could remember.  Bilbo had loved him unconditionally, the most perfect father he could ever want.  He had taken him into his home, taught him elvish, taken him on outings and walks, told him story after story, and never once had Frodo let him know just how much it all meant to him.  

He had failed Bilbo, he had failed Sam, and what of little Merry back in Buckland?  When Frodo left, he had asked to come visit him in Bag End, and not yet had he sent his cousin so much as a letter.  

_'He's gone, Bilbo's gone, he's DEAD.'_   The words rang over and over in his tortured mind.  _'Lotho was right.  I am a worthless rag.'_

"Mr. Frodo!" 

Sam, having finally located a key, burst into the room and stopped short at the sight meeting his eyes.  

Frodo was crying.  _The_ Frodo was actually sobbing uncontrollably into the pillows, shoulders heaving as though the world was ending and everything was to be no more.

Sam didn't know quite what to do.  He had always thought of his friend of being so strong and tough, as though nothing could hurt him.  He had never shown much emotion, and Sam had even begun to accept the fact a genuine smile might never cross his face.  Yet here he was, the future master of Bag End, weeping like a child, and besides the shock, all he felt was a great longing to comfort him.

"Frodo," he said gently, sitting beside him on the bed.  "What's wrong?"

At the sound of Sam's voice, Frodo immediately stopped crying audibly, but still kept his face buried in the pillows.  He didn't answer.  Sam decided not to trouble him further, and began tucking him into bed.   He was surprised at his friend's compliancy.  He usually disliked being 'waited upon,' as he called it.  

As he did so, Sam noticed a bright red stain on Frodo's shirt.   Groaning inwardly, he rolled Frodo onto his back, trying not to stare at his tear-streaked face.  His friend's sorrow broke his heart.  What could be causing him so much agony?   Was he really that upset over Bilbo's departure?

Frodo coughed deeply, and a dot of red blood appeared on his lips.  

_'Oh no,'_ Sam thought, heart falling at the sight.  _'He's hurt again.  I suppose we should summon the doctor.  But I don't want to leave him so sad.'_  

Before Sam could take a step however, a tiny ball of fur bounced up onto the bed, and Autumn snuggled up by Frodo's side, purring contentedly.  Frodo opened his eye a slit, and reached out to scratch her fondly beneath the chin.  The kitten tilted her head up in ecstasy, purring all the louder. 

"I'll be right back," Sam said softly, a smile on his lips, and left the kitten to her duty.

~

            Frodo watched his only friend in the world disappear through the door and the fragile thread he had been hanging onto so desperately snapped.  Darkness engulfed him in an impenetrable shroud of despair, and his eyes no longer saw light.  Reality ceased to exist as he was sucked into the world between living and dying, teetering so precariously on a fragile balance over a bottomless chasm.

_'I wonder what it's like to die,'_ he thought bleakly,_ 'since I'll be dying soon.'_

The kitten by his side stopped purring and stared at him through wide green eyes.  His hand dropped lifelessly on the mattress.

"Go on," he muttered.  "Leave me, just like mum, and father, and Bilbo, and Sam.  No one's stopping you, cat.  Go on, get!  Why should you care?"

Autumn stood up, stretching, and Frodo waited patiently for her to jump down from the bed.  He turned his head away, not being able

to bear the wrenching pain of losing someone else.  The next thing he knew, a warm patch of fur was rubbing across his cheek, and a low rumbling droned steadily in his ear.  A rough tongue licked his nose and Autumn curled up again by his side.

Frodo blinked in surprise.  She hadn't left.

_'Yet,'_ spoke his thoughts, _'but she will.'_

Frodo closed his eyes with a sigh, allowing murky dreams to draw him into a somber, grey twilight.

~*~   

            "I'm afraid the situation is grave, Mistress Gamgee," Dr. Hardbottle said, tucking his hands in his pockets.  "I had fully expected the lad to recover quickly, but………."

Mrs. Gamgee leaned forward in expectation.  It was now late in the evening, for the doctor had been out on business earlier in the day and had not returned until supper time.  

"But what, sir?" she asked, noticing the hesitation on his face.  Surely his next words were not _that_ difficult to utter!  Frodo was a strong lad, a fighter.  He wouldn't let three broken ribs get in his way.

The healer sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.

"I've done everything possible known to medicine to cure him, with time, yet the life is seeping out of him more and more by the hour."

It took a long while for the words to register fully in the kind mother's brain.

"Is he…….dying?" she asked, throat closing with the last word, and the doctor nodded solemnly.

"I don't understand it myself," he said seriously, "I can't tell you professionally what is causing this rapid decline in his condition, but to me it seems as though he's lost the will to live. The mind is a powerful thing.  It hangs onto life by instinct, yet if somehow that fragile thread breaks………." 

"Oh no….."  Mrs. Gamgee gasped, clutching her apron.  This couldn't be real.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Hardbottle said,  "but in my personal opinion, he won't live to see tomorrow night unless some rapid change occurs in his demeanor."

Mrs. Gamgee's hands flew in the air in despair and she sank into a chair. 

"Nothin' can be done?" she asked, voice taught with emotion.  How could anyone have known she cared so much for the quiet Bucklander?

 "I'm sorry, truly I am," said the doctor sincerely. He had attended many deathbeds, but to see such a young life so lost and hopeless was difficult to bear, as hardened as he had become over the years.  And here he sat, powerless to change the course of destiny.  So many times he had brought hobbits back from the brink of death, and seen them recover.  Why, his own daughter-in-law he had saved!  Who knows what would have happened had he let her die?

"I wish there was something I could do," he muttered, "but young Baggins has traveled beyond my realm of control.  I suppose you should make him as comfortable as you can, and as to Bilbo…..I,…." He stopped, unsure as of how to continue.

"Thank you, doctor, we will do all we can," Mrs. Gamgee said, dabbing at her eyes.

Sam, listening through the door, flew down the hall sobbing.  He bounded through the back door and fled into the garden, where he threw himself down on a soft patch of clover and wept until no more tears were left.

Frodo couldn't die!  Not his dear friend!  

"Frodo, Frodo, Frodo," Sam sobbed over and over, "Why?  Why do you have to die?  Why can't I do anything to help you?"

'_Why can't you?'_

Sam at bolted upright, tears frozen on his face.  Why, here he was crying like a baby when the doctor had said there was hope!  

"……….unless some rapid change occurs in his demeanor……."  The doctor had said.  But what could a little lad like Sam do to change the course of destiny?  

_'Why do you want to die? Is it because you don't like me?  Did I hurt you somehow?  Or did Bilbo say something…..'_

Sam wrung his hands helplessly, crushing the tiny plants in his iron fist.  Frodo couldn't die!  It seemed wrong somehow, as though he, Sam, was supposed to do something.

"What?" he nearly shouted at the sky.  "Please Frodo, don't go!"

But he knew, for all his pleadings and tears, Frodo was going to die, and nothing could be done to change it. 

**~To be continued!~**

**_Please review!_**

**Kaewi****:** I'm glad you liked the picture.  And yes, Frodo is grouchy, for now.  But I think he's justified in that….comsidering everything that's happened to him!  Thanks for being patient, and I really hope it won't take too long for me to write the chapters.  I finally found a name for the new character…..*phew*

**Iorhael****:** Thanks for reviewing!  I'm glad the story is getting better.  I'm really trying to do my best writing it. And I know you've been following my story.  Sometimes computers mess things up, and we all have lives, so I don't mind.  

**Myfanwy****:** Just another little note to let you know I appreciate your review!

**Althea:  **HURRAY!  I _LOVE_ your review!  Yes!  *dances around in circles celebrating*  That's exactly what I was trying to portray!  Love, friendship, healing, acceptance, all those things.  I'm glad you're enjoying my story!  Did you want me to send you the picture I mentioned in chapter 11?  Just wondering…..


	14. Hope and Mrs Hardbottle

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of The Night of a Thousand Stars_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**_RE-EDITED!!!_**

**~Chapter 14~Hope and Mrs. Hardbottle**

~~~~*~~~~

            Dr. Hardbottle shut his front door quietly behind him and sighed deeply.  His wife, upon hearing his melancholy arrival, poked her head through one of the doorways.

"Has someone died?" she asked.  Her husband only looked so defeated when one of his ailing patients slipped through his fingers.

"No, dear," he said, easing into his chair beside the fire in the parlor.    "But he shall."

Mrs. Hardbottle put a gentle hand on her husbands' arm. 

"I'm sure you did all you could," she soothed.  "These things just happen sometimes."

"But that's exactly the problem!" the doctor burst out.  "He_ should_ have recovered!  He was in an excellent condition when I left him yesterday, yet now for some reason his inertia is completely reversed!  I've never seen the like of his case before.  What is a doctor to do?  His friends and family will be devastated, especially when they learn his death could have been prevented, if only there was hope."

"There is always hope," his wife said convincingly.  While her husband healed the sick in body, his wife was blessed with an unnatural gift for counseling and healing of the mind.  She assisted her soul-mate on many desperate cases, often holding the hand of the patient and comforting them in their pain.  There wasn't one who hadn't been touched by her compassionate voice and soothing spirit.  "Only sometimes it is buried too deep to perceive on the outside.  In fact, sometimes hope is hidden so badly the very person fails to see it.   Perchance this is the case of your patient."

The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"As I have said," he spoke at last, "there is nothing more I can do for him.  Perhaps you can help, dear.  Would you be willing?"

Mrs. Hardbottle smiled fondly.

"Of course I am willing!  If you'll only tell me his name and where I can find him….."

"Frodo Baggins," the doctor replied.  "He's the cousin of Bilbo Baggins, and he lives in Bag End."

The muscles in his wife's face instantly tightened in concern.

"Bilbo _Baggins?_" she gasped.  "Why, his little nephew is dying?  How dreadful!  But why doesn't his uncle cheer him up?  I can't possibly see why he is dying!"

"Exactly," Dr. Hardbottle gestured in frustration.  "See what I mean?"

"Oh dear," she said, thinking.  "I suppose I might be able to help in _some_ way.  But what of Bilbo?  What does he think of all this?"

"He's in a coma," her husband said gravely, and Mrs. Hardbottle slowly covered her mouth with her hand.  

"Ohhhh…." She breathed, but the hobbit wasn't finished.

"There's more.  Do you remember Gandalf the Grey?" he asked, and without waiting for her to answer, continued.  "Gandalf the Grey, the wizard, took Bilbo away to be healed."

"Oh my," his wife gasped, wiping her face with a lacy handkerchief.  "Oh my.  Well, as I said, I'll see what I can do.  This is a most unusual case you've picked up!"

"It would be best if you hurried," her husband urged as she stood up, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. 

"Ma'am?" 

A voice drifted into the room, and the doctor's wife turned to face the speaker standing in the shadows of  the doorway.

"Yes?"  

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, ma'am, but I overheard Mr. Baggins' problem, and I remembered a distant relation of mine with the same situation.  May I accompany you?"

"Of course," Mrs. Hardbottle said quickly, "but hurry!"

~*~

            Sam slowly pushed open the door to Frodo's bedroom and gazed miserably at his friend through swollen eyes.  He had never seen someone look so horrible, so lifeless.  Was he dead already?  But no, for his eyes were opening slowly, revealing the deadened life within.  Before he knew what he was doing, Sam had burst into a new round of tears, face buried in the cat-smelling blankets covering the dying hobbit.

"Why, Frodo?" was all he could ask, and he heard a tiny sigh, but no reply answered his heart-felt inquiry.  He couldn't bring himself to glance at the black-rimmed eyes or colorless lips.  If he had ever had a nightmare before, it was nothing compared to this apparition, laying on the bed within a finger's reach.

"The doctor said you were healing!  Why can't I help you?  What's wrong?" Sam wailed softly.

"No one can help me, Sam," came the toneless reply.  It shivered Sam's bones to hear it, a faint echo of what it had once been.

"Why?  Why can no one help you?  I'll be good, I promise!  I won't get my mother again, and I'll grow the prettiest flowers you ever saw, and I'll plant a whole row of roses underneath your window, and I'll get Gandalf to come back….." his voice broke and he could no longer continue.  

Frodo glanced at him in pity, a twinge of remorse in his heart.  Was Sam play-acting, or were those tears real?  Never mind, it didn't matter now.  He wouldn't be around to see his funeral, and if a whole crowd of hobbits came or just the grave-diggers it didn't matter.  Sam would probably grin happily once he was gone, and the whole of the Shire would breathe a sigh of relief.  Farmer Maggot could stop protecting his mushrooms, and Lobelia would finally get Bag End.  Everyone would be happier if he died, no, _when_ he died.  It was only a matter of time.  

"When did he leave?" Frodo asked blankly.  Of course the wizard had left.  Who would want to care for a dying hobbit anyways, when there was so much excitement in the world?

"He left last night.  He would have stayed longer, but he said he was taking Bilbo to a place where they could heal him."

"What?" Frodo would have shouted but was too weak.  Could it be that Bilbo wasn't… 

Sam nodded.

"Gandalf said we didn't have the arts to cure him, and so he took him away.  I forgot the name of the place."

"Do you mean… he's not dead?" Frodo gasped, grabbing Sam's arm weakly.  His heart fluttered furiously in his breast, as though it were a bird longing to escape.  A wild hope rose within him, and there was nothing he could to quench it, false or true.

"Dead?" Sam exclaimed, shocked.  "Of course he's not dead!  Why?"

A dreadful shaking laid hold of Frodo's limbs, and he couldn't restrain the tears flowing down his face as he sank into the pillows.  Bilbo wasn't dead, he was alive!  And he was going to be healed!  It was too much to comprehend.

"Did you think Mr. Bilbo was dead?" Sam gasped, seeing the reaction on his friend's face.  That would have been horrible!  It couldn't be, but Frodo nodded silently, dragging his palm across his eyes.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam sobbed, longing to hug his friend tightly.  No wonder he had wanted to die!  He had thought Bilbo was gone!  "Bilbo's alive, or at least he was when Gandalf took him away.  He'll come home as soon as he's better."

"Come home….." Frodo choked on the words.  Bilbo was alive and coming home.  Of course he was!  No one had told him he was dead, he had just assumed it because of the mattress airing out!  How stupid he had been, to think Bilbo was dead.  He had caused Sam insurmountable grief, and who else was suffering at the thought?  All he ever did was hurt others.  Yet even that knowledge could not dampen the utter joy and relief he felt at Bilbo's coming recovery.  The drastic change of emotions was too much for his weak body and his next words were nearly inaudible.

"May I rest a little, Sam?" he asked falteringly, for his eyelids were already beginning to close, heavy with weariness, yet sparkling and alive with hope.

Tears of gladness now flowed freely down Sam's cheeks and he tucked the covers securely around Frodo's chin.  

"Of course," he said softly, and left the room to answer a knock at the door.

~

            "Good evening," Mrs. Hardbottle said to the young hobbit-lad answering Bag End's door.  "I'm Mrs. Hardbottle, the wife of Dr. Hardbottle.  I've come to see young Frodo Baggins, for I heard he was sick."

"Well, ma'am," Sam stammered, "he was sick, but I think he'll be gettin' better might quick.  And besides, he doesn't really like doctors, begin' your pardon.  But please come in."

"Are you his friend?" the woman asked kindly, handing her shawl and hat to her maid.  

"Yes, I'm his friend," Sam said boldly, with pride.  "And I promised him I wouldn't get   any more doctors."

"But you didn't get me," Mrs. Hardbottle pointed out.  "I came on my own, and I intend to help him, whether he likes it or not."

Sam planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms over his chest.  He could be stubborn when the need arose.

"I promised," he said, "and I already broke one promise, and that nearly killed him.  I ain't goin' to disappoint him again."

Mrs. Hardbottle changed her tactics.

"Perhaps then Amber can see him," she ventured, pulling her forward.  "She's seen a case like his before, and she isn't a doctor."

"Perhaps I may be able to help him," the young lass said cautiously.  Sam thought her to be about Frodo's age, and there was something about her that told Sam she ought to take a peek at the hobbit in Sam's care.  He pretended to be thinking and finally consented.

"Very well, but only five minutes!" he said, motioning for her to follow him.  "You may have a seat in the parlor ma'am," Sam addressed Mrs. Hardbottle.  "I'll be with you in a moment," and he led the lass down the hall to see Frodo.

**~To be continued!~   **

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed!  I realize it's an awful place to leav off and say I'm not coming back for a while.  So I guess I'll change my plans and update more slowly.  I can't tell you when the next one is.  Sorry.

Thanks Breon Briarwood, heartofahobbit, Mayberry, and Kaewi for reviewing!

**Shire Baggins:**  Frodo's ribs were cracked in the avalanche, or badly bruised.  He doesn't know.  But then they were broken by Lotho.  So his poor ribs technically got weakened, then broke.  Thanks for reviewing!

**Lovethosehobbits****:**  Nice to see you!  Don't worry, this ain't the last chapter.  I'm flattered to be 'wound around your finger,' as you put it.  I only hope I won't disappoint you in some way…. *walks on pins and needles*

**_**A Special Thanks_** to Myfanwy for beta-ing this chappie!**


	15. An Arrangement

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of The Night of a Thousand Stars_

Disclaimer:  I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**~Chapter 15~ An Arrangement**

~~~~*~~~~

            "My master, Mr. Frodo here, has had a hard time of it Miss, uh….."

"Amber, sir," the lass replied, and Sam nodded his head.

"….Miss Amber.  He lost both his parents when he was just a little thing.  He was only twelve years old, after all.  He's been shuffled around from house to house ever since, and Bilbo…..Mr. Bilbo, only just adopted him four months ago or so."  
Amber nodded politely, listening respectfully as Sam ushered her through the long dark halls of Bag End.  Her keen eye caught with disapproval the thickening layer of dust and air of desperate neglect hanging in the atmosphere.

_'What this home needs is a good full-out cleaning,'_ she thought to herself as she side-stepped a small pile of crumpled rags.  But what was to be expected of a bachelor and his nephew living alone, with no maid or servant-girl to help with the cleaning?  Then again, she thought, perhaps they didn't have a choice.  Hobbits' tongues wagged freely about Hobbiton.

However thick the clutter, however, she couldn't miss the overwhelming luxury of the hole.  Deeply carved furniture, rich carpets, gleaming swords crossed on the walls, even the dulling silver shone proudly in its own glow.  The hole was ideal.

"….and this here accident just about broke Mr. Frodo's heart.  Why, if I hadn't 'a told him about his uncle's_ temporary_ absence, you might be makin' a different kind 'o call."

"So he is not dying?" the lass asked, jerked out of her observations, and her escort shook his head.

"Nope.  Not no more he ain't.  He just 'came out of it' right before you called.  He should be sleepin' now."

They had stopped in front of what Amber assumed to be Frodo's room, and Sam opened it cautiously, poking his head inside first before admitting Frodo's caller.  

Amber found herself in a small yet cozy room, with a fire cheerfully crackling in the round brick fireplace and the autumn sunshine pouring in through the partially-curtained window.  What should have arrested her attention, though, were the two peaceful figures lying side-by-side on the bed.  Upon hearing her footstep, the smaller of the two opened her round green eyes and blinked at the intruder sleepily, before breaking into an enormous yawn, revealing tiny sharp teeth.

"That's Autumn," Sam whispered.  "She's Frodo's pet.  Don't worry about her.  She's as friendly as they come."

However, when Amber reached out a hand to pet the kitten, Autumn arched her back and hissed viciously, daring her to come closer to the patient on the bed.  

"Now what's the matter with you?" Sam asked, picking up the kitten and placing her on the floor.  Autumn growled angrily and darted from the room in the blink of an eye.

"I'm awful sorry about that, miss.  She usually takes nicer to people.  Maybe you've got some scent hangin' about you or somethin'." 

Amber smiled warily and began her examination of her patient with the unemotional eye of a physician. She felt his pulse at the neck and ran through the rest of her procedures mechanically under Sam's scrutinizing eye.  His unblinking watchfulness sent prickles down her spine, and she very gently asked him to leave.  After a moment's thought he exited the room, leaving her alone.

Knowing she could do nothing until the lad awakened, she sat down to wait watching the steady rise and fall of his blanketed chest.  He was a most unusual-looking hobbit, by earthy standards.  Admittedly, this lad near her age _was_ handsome, but in a fragile, untouchable way, as though he had long passed into shadow.  Even in sleep, when his features were unconsciously relaxed, there were faint worry lines about his face, betraying a long burden and ever-present doubt. 

Still, this heir of Bag End could present himself as a very useful instrument.  He seemed just the sort she needed.  Delicate, unstable, emotional; she would have no difficulty at all.  

"Aye, very useful indeed."

~*~

            It was early evening, and yellow fading sunlight was turning the room to bronze when Frodo awoke.  He was alone, and the only movement was that of the gauzy curtains twitching silently in the afternoon breeze.  

_'Where's Sam?'_ he wondered, and instantly regretted it.  _'He has a family,' _Frodo reminded himself.  _'He probably went home.  He deserves to. He's done enough for me.'_  Yet at the same time Frodo chastised himself for wishing for company, an almost indiscernible pang lingered at the back of his mind.  He brushed it away for the moment, and turned his thoughts instead to Bilbo.  Where was he?  Why hadn't anyone told him Gandalf had taken him away?  

_'Gandalf….'_ He still couldn't believe a wizard had been in Bag End.  

Sam, Bilbo, Gandalf; Frodo's thoughts whirled between the three until he could barely think.  His throat itched from dryness and he tried to ease himself into a sitting position to drink water without spilling any, but to no avail.  A sharp pain tore through his side and he gasped, clutching his ribs in agony.  At that particular, unguarded moment, his bedroom door swung open and a stranger entered his bedroom. 

"Good evening, Mr. Baggins," she said respectively, seeing his pain pass as nothing serious.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice slightly unsteady from the little bout.  "Why are you here?"  The hobbit's age was not obvious, but she looked to be in her late thirties.  Her curly hair was tied tightly behind her head in a bun, and her clothing spoke of proud poverty, ironed and stiff, but of coarse materials.  

"Pardon me, sir," she said.  Her voice was strong and confident. "I am a healer.  I heard you were ill and I came to see you."

"To see me, or to care for me?" Frodo asked.  He had yet to see her eyes, to see if It was there.  No one with It in their eyes could be trusted.

"To care for you," the lass quickly corrected.  "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered monotonously.  "In fact, I should like to rise, if I am permitted."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, sir," the lass admonished.  "Your ribs are not quite healed enough for such strain."

_'So she examined me while I was sleeping,'_ Frodo thought with embarrassment.  _'I thought Sam wasn't going to get any more doctors.'_

"Did you come of your own accord, or did Sam summon you?" he asked.  She had done nothing yet to encourage or deny his trust, and until then he would remain wary.

"It was my own doing," she said, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, offering it to her patient with seeming indifference.  Frodo drained the glass in a couple swallows, watching her all the while.  If she should make one false move…..

"You never answered my question," he said once he had finished.  "Who are you?"

"My name is Miss Amber," she said quickly.  

"I should like to know your full name," Frodo said, "for references."

"There, Mr. Baggins, I am afraid I shall disappoint you," she said, stoking the fire to a stronger blaze.

"Have you no last name?" he asked, hoping to pry it from her by another means.  

"Perhaps…"

"Perhaps?"

"I have no father of which to ask my name."

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, and something flickered in his eyes.

"I need not your sympathy," she said coldly, laying the poker aside.  "I receive enough pity as it is."

"It was not pity, but understanding," he said flatly.  "I am an orphan as well."

"So I heard," she said, emotions rising.  "But how can you offer your understanding?  You knew your parents, if only for a while.  I have never seen either of mine."

"I apologize for upsetting you," he said, attempting to rise.  A wince crossed his face and she pressed him back down.

"You must not excite yourself, Mr. Baggins," she said mockingly.  Was the lass taunting him?  

"Why are you still here?" he retorted.  "Why haven't you returned home?  I have no fever.  It will be a slow task to watch my every moment of recovery."

"A slow task, yes," she said, flipping a blanket off him and snapping it expertly in the air.  "But not a dull one.  As for returning home, I have arranged it with Mrs. Gamgee that I will abide her to ensure your recovery.  It was her own suggestion.  Apparently her son doesn't trust you to recover on your own."  

Amber had met Sam's mother a few hours before. Mrs. Gamgee had been overjoyed to find a healer willing to care for Frodo privately, and keep up the hole.  She had approved the idea at once, without asking why Amber was so eager to obtain the position.

"Why must you care for me?" Frodo asked, eyes narrowing.  "I can recover on my own.  And the town will talk of your staying alone with a lad your age, all alone."

"Mr. Baggins," she said, cheeks blushing in indignation.  "I don't care what the town thinks of me.  You need assistance, and I intend to provide it, whether you like it or not."

"Miss Amber, I insist you must not stay here.  I do not need any assistance, as I've already told you.  I shall be perfectly fine."  The mere thought of a lass living in Bilbo's home, alone, without Bilbo's permission did not seem right to Frodo at all.   "I will not allow you to disgrace yourself….."

"And who shall be the disgraced, I or you, if you refuse the help of a healer and become crippled for life?"  She dared, perfectly sculptured eyebrow rising inquisitively.

"_I_ shall be the disgraced," Frodo answered boldly, not to be shown down by a lass.  His temper hardly ever rose, but he was becoming more agitated by the minute.  "And now, you may go home.  Forget about me.  Sam can take care of me."

"Aye, he can, but you will not let him, and it pains him too much to force you," she pointed out.  "I, however, have no such feelings of affection, and will not hesitate to resort to extreme measures."

Defeated, Frodo slumped against his pillows.  He would will himself to heal as fast as possible, and send this intruder from Bilbo's home.  After all, what would his uncle think if he came home to find his nephew living with a girl, even if she _was_ only a maid?  It was not right, not at all, especially after what had been done to him…..

"Very well, then.  I shall fetch your supper," Amber said, and Frodo thought he detected a flounce in her step as she waltzed triumphantly from the room.

_'This is wonderful,'_ he thought bitterly.  _'A lass will be taking care of me.  There goes the rest of Bilbo's reputation.'_

**~To be continued!~**

**Thank you** to everybody!  Breon Briarwood, Ms Hobgoblin, Kaewi, Iorhael, kymm, and Charlene for reviewing!!!  And thank you for being so patient!  I hope you haven't forgot about this story altogether.  *dries tears and prepares for barrage of rotten tomatoes and cabbages*  BLAME IT ALL ON THE _TERM PAPER_!! AUUGGGHHH the _horror_!  But it's finished now, so I should be able to write faster.  (That is, once my muse stops coming up with so many different ideas for stories…)

_Thank you Myfanwy for betaing!  (_you made it all possible *sniff* j/k ; ) ) No, really, thank you. = )


	16. Conflict

**The Master of Bag End**

_Continuation of 'The Night of a Thousand Stars'_

Disclaimer:  I don't' own Lord of the Rings.

**_Thank you _**to Kaewi, Breon Briarwood, Mayberry, Frodo Baggins 88, and Mrs Hobgoblin for reviewing!!!  ; )

**~Chapter 16~ Conflict**

~~~~*~~~~

            A roll of thunder pealed through the gray, cloud-laden sky as Frodo, shivering, came and stood in the kitchen doorway.  His presence went unnoticed for a moment, in which he had the rare opportunity of observing Amber whilst she was unaware.  He reveled in the small victory.  For nearly a week now she had fussed over him like a mother chick, never letting him out of her sight except, of course to answer nature's call.  She was…..an astounding hobbit.  Her energy seemed endless, her tactics forceful, her ability to coax anything into him amazing; she was astounding, yet almost too militaristic sometimes.  He was often reminded of army generals in the books he had read, so similar were her methods.  If he didn't want to drink the tea now, very well.  She wouldn't give it to him later when he asked.  He wasn't hungry?  Very well, no supper, yet don't come begging for food in the middle of the night.  

            Now, he stood on shaky knees and watched her bend over in front of the fire, cooking something in the large boiler, and was admonished at the amount of work she willingly committed to each day.  What he had secretly seen of Bilbo's home so far was sparkling clean and tidy, casting his own efforts to shame.  Only a very strong lass could have accomplished such work.

            A particularly large clasp of thunder broke outside, and to Frodo's surprise, Amber jumped, casting a fearful glance outside the window.  Ah, so she was afraid of thunder!  Ha!  The hard lass did have a crack in her countenance after all!  Frodo couldn't contain a small snicker, and she whirled around.

"Mr. Baggins!" she said firmly, guiding him to a chair.  "I did not permit you to rise this morning!"

"No, not this morning," Frodo retaliated, "but you did say it last night.  Don't you remember?"

Apparently flustered, the lass wouldn't back down.

"Aye, but you were meant to wait for my assistance."

"I am quite sufficient to meet my own needs, thank you."  He was wearied of the constant watchfulness, and worried that he might become too accustomed to it and expect to be waited on hand and foot.

"I will say when you are ready," she said in a low voice, spooning some porridge into a bowl and nearly shoving it in front of him.  "Eat."  Expecting humble compliancy, she turned away to resume another task.  But Frodo had made a vow this morning, a promise that gave energy to his limbs, forcing them to rise.  He had lain invalid too long.  Although his instincts told him to wait one more day, he ignored them under the illusion of strength.  Besides, if he stared at the wall for one more day, he would have gone mad with boredom.  

He stared at the steaming porridge in front of him, appetizing aroma drifting lazily past his senses, and suddenly the stuff turned to dust.  She was confident enough to think his stubbornness was broken!  Here was plain proof, evidence that she thought a single word from her could go instantly obeyed!  Well, now he would prove her wrong.  

            Frodo pushed the bowl away and pulled himself to his feet.  The scrape of the chair-legs across the stone floor caught her attention.  With a sigh, she started towards him.  

"Don't try my patience, Mr. Baggins!" she said, forcing him back into the chair against his protests.  She shoved the bowl in front of him and stood with her hands planted on her hips, staring down at him.  "Go on.  Eat."

Frodo crossed his arms defiantly, though a little awkwardly from the restricting bandage on his arm, and stared just as intensely back at her.  

Thus Sam found them half an hour later, with the cold bowl of porridge between them amidst the crashing downpour of rain outside the chimney.

~*~

            The great oak door of the Green Dragon crashed open and a hooded female sulked to a dark table.  She plunked down and shook out the soaked folds of her dress, wishing a thousand maladies on whoever had asked for the rain.  She gave her order to a bar maid and returned into the pallid chamber of her thoughts.

The Baggins was getting harder and harder to handle each day.  At first he had submitted weakly to her administrations, but he seemed to be more stubborn than she thought.  

_'Hmmm,'_ she mused, _'how can I make him trust me?  Perhaps it's time for a change of tactics…'_

Her order arrived, and with a smile on her bloody lips, she drank deeply of the tankard, further evolving her plan.

~*~

            Sam dug his trowel into the muddy earth the following day, unintentionally dissecting a worm with the sharp blade.  Sighing in exasperation, he buried the split body and began a new hole, hacking furiously with his tool.  

            He was frustrated.  Frustrated with Frodo's blindness, Amber's occupation in Bag End, and furious at his own suggestion.  _He _had said Frodo should have an aide.  Yet he never meant an aide that would control him and watch every breath he took.  

"I'm only a simple gardener," he muttered to himself, "but that lass is doin' somethin' that I don't know about.  I don't like at all what she's doin' to Mr. …."

"Hullo Sam."

Sam whirled his head around, and couldn't stop the radiant smile lighting up his face as Frodo slowly made his way over to where Sam was transplanting flowers beneath a window.  

"Hello Mr. Frodo!" Sam replied enthusiastically.  Frodo hadn't set foot outside Bag End for nearly two weeks now, and it was wonderful to see his turn his pale face up to the sun and breathe in the fresh, earth-scented air.

"It's wonderful to see you outside, sir."

"It's wonderful to _be_ outside," Frodo replied, using the most cheerful voice Sam had heard him use since the accident.  Perhaps the lass _was_ doing some good.  Or maybe it was the outdoors.  Whatever it was, it vanished the moment a shrill voice sliced through the morning air.

"Mr. Baggins!" Amber shouted, reaching his side in an instant.  "Why are you outside?  I never told you to go outside!  The air is bad for you!"

Sam turned back to his garden.

_'I'm only a simple gardener,'_ he thought, _'but I always thought a bit of fresh air don't do no body no harm.  Frodo looked like he enjoyed it anyway.  This lass is definitely up to something.  If only Bilbo would come back.'_

Sighing, Sam watched in frustration as his master was led carefully back into the dark, stuffy interior to which he had been confined for so long, finding himself wishing he had never let that hobbit in to see his friend.

~*~

            Frodo watched vaguely as Amber bustled around the kitchen, preparing lunch, glancing suspiciously at her out of the corner of his eye.  There was something wrong with this healer.  She claimed to be helping him, but why was he not feeling any better?  His side was still sore and hurt painfully whenever he bent over or tried to twist his spine.  He had had injuries before, and usually the pain and stiffness diminished over the days, yet he seemed to be stuck in the mud right now, getting neither better nor worse.  

She never asked to see his wounds, nor ever offered to put salve on them.  Normally Frodo wouldn't have minded, but he knew the Gamgees were paying for her to live at Bag End, and they were not very well-to-do.  Of course they would be paid back once Bilbo returned, but who knew when that would be?

And then there was the matter of food.  Bilbo had always encouraged Frodo to eat large meals, claiming he was too skinny.  Everyone said he was too skinny, especially the healers, yet Amber had never once mentioned his weight.  Her meals usually consisted of porridge or soup, bread, and cheese, nothing more, nothing less.  He wondered if she was simply a bad cook, or too busy to make anything more.

Frodo didn't like what she was doing, and the attitude with which she 'aided' him.  She was too business-like to be a healer, and there was some sort of menacing air handing about her presence that seemed to snatch the very light form the room.

_'If only I could tell her to leave,'_ he thought_.  'But even if I did summon up the courage, would she listen to me?  I don't know what to say.  Suppose she becomes worse after she knows I don't want her here.  What then?'            _

He sighed and watched Autumn's tail disappear around the corner.  She didn't come near him anymore, not since Ms. Amber had come.  He wondered what Sam thought of his healer.  If he did dismiss her, what would Mrs. Gamgee say?

He sighed and slunk out of the room.  Right now he didn't even want to look at his healer.

~*~

Gandalf paced nervously at the foot of Bilbo's bed, thinking.  He should have asked Frodo how Bilbo had obtained the injury before whisking him off into oblivion.  Wizards made mistakes often enough, and this was another to add to his long, long list.  He had been so frantic at the thought of Bilbo wasting away unconscious, or slipping into darkness and death, that he had given no thought to anything else but bringing him to this small, yet comfortable home.  

He sighed in frustration and ran a bushel of fingers through his gnarled hair.  Perhaps he had overlooked something.  He ran through a checklist in his mind and stopped suddenly.  What if Bilbo didn't want to wake up?   Had this incident made him simple?  Every victim's experience was different, that he knew.  Perhaps Bilbo had gone to a green country with yellow flowers and birds singing in the treetops.  What if he was sitting by a whistling stream, watching the bees gather honey, and didn't want to return to the waking world?  Had he forgotten such a world existed? 

"Nonsense," Gandalf muttered.  "Why would he want to stay in a coma?  Perhaps there is someone who would be able to help him."

Instantly the sad picture of Bilbo's young nephew sprang to his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.  How would a mere child help bring a grown hobbit back to life?  There was no conceivable way.  Besides, Frodo was miles away, safe in Bag End.  Gandalf couldn't leave now, not when Bilbo might awaken any time.  

Too many questions ran through the wizards' mind.  Sighing, he turned and left the room, calling for a life-long friend.  Perhaps he held the key to unlocking the mystery, held checkmate between life and insanity.

~*~

            The flames in the fireplace danced and crackled viciously, popping every so often with a loud snap! sending tiny sparks dancing crazily up the chimney.  Frodo stared, unseeing, into the flames, confined to his chair.  Where was Bilbo?  Was Bilbo awake?  Was he thinking of his nephew, practically alone in Bag End?  

His anxiety grew with every passing day.  Was he even coming back?  Gandalf had left without a word, as was common for wizards.  The last time Bilbo disappeared, he had been led to near death; this time he had left to be healed, or so Sam said.  What if Sam was lying to him in order to…there was nothing.  Sam would never lie.  Frodo would just have to take his word that Bilbo was coming back someday.  

_'But when is someday?  Is it a week?  A month?  Three months?  A year?!'_  His head throbbed with unanswered questions, and he massaged his temples in worry.  Unfortunately , his caretaker chose that moment to appear in the room.

"Mr. Baggins, I said you shouldn't be up, and now look at yourself!  A headache!"  She took his elbow and pulled him out of the chair.  "Now it's to bed with you."

"I will _not_ go to bed!" Frodo said firmly, taking his arm from her grasp.  "Is this how you would heal me, let me rot in my bedroom devoid of fresh, healing air?  I won't have you…."

"I will NOT be spoken to like that, _Frodo_," she seethed, snatching his arm once again.  "I am your _healer_ and I will do as I please!"

"And what a fine healer you are!" Frodo shot back, wrenching his arm from her once again.  "If you knew anything about the art of healing you would…."

"I know plenty about healing," Amber growled, her eyes glowing menacingly.  "It is you who dare to contradict me with your silly notions from silly books!"

Frodo had been insulted before, and usually the comments went in one ear and out the other, but never had anyone dared to insult his intelligence, the findings gathered from so many precious hours poured over the deep wells of knowledge.  He remembered what he read as though the words had been inscribed upon his brain, and whenever someone declared he was wrong, when he could see the words on the pages in his mind, his fury, so often held in check, would be unleashed.

His voice grew deadly calm.

"You, Miss Amber, do not practice what you know," he said in a low voice.  "I have had many healers before, and I know their practices well enough by now.   You must know them too, but for some reason you are not using them."

"Do you presume to insult me?" she hissed, spittle flying from her lips.  Frodo held his chin high.  He had not had this opportunity in years.

"No," he said, and her eyes held the gleam of triumphant victory.  But Frodo wasn't finished. "I am not insulting you.  I am dismissing you."

Amber stood with her mouth open, staring in shock at the strong, frail hobbit before her.  How did he come by such gumption?  But as she thought, a new idea took root in her mind.  She clenched her jaw and stood up straighter.

"Very well, Mr. Baggins," she said professionally.  "I'll go.  But once I am gone, don't think of calling me back."

"I shan't need to," he called after her retreating form.  When she vanished through the doorway, all strength left his limbs and he collapsed numbly into the chair.  He had done it!  He stood up to somebody, and she listened to him!  He had never, never thought this possible.  Yet he had done it!  He stared into the flames until her footsteps echoed once more in the hallway, en route to the front door.

"Goodbye, Mr. Baggins," she said coldly, poking her head into the room.  "Don't bother to escort me out."

Frodo said nothing, and the round green door shut with a bang behind her.  As the lass stepped across the threshold, she muttered under her breath

"You can dismiss me, Baggins, but I always get what I want."

**~To be continued!~**

Thank you for your patience!  I hope to have the next chapter up soon, but don't check every day for an update….


	17. Friends

**The Master of Bag End**

Disclaimer:  See last chapter.

**_Thank you to Iorhael, Breon Briarwood, Mayberry, Kaewi, FrodoBaggins88, laurajslr, lovethosehobbits, and Ms Hobgoblin for your patience and for reviewing! _**_Sorry I couldn't update as fast.  I've been sidetracked with The Guilty (darn those plot bunnies) and moving and sickness.  Found a house though…just selling and escrow and all those little complications left…._

**As to chapter 4 of The Guilty: Part Two, I need to edit it a little then I'll post it with the Shakespearean ending, happy ending emailed by special request.  

**~Chapter 17~ Friends**

~~~~*~~~~

            Sam glanced sadly up at the round kitchen window, glowing faintly from the firelight within.  Sighing, he hoisted a bag of potatoes over his shoulder and turned to head home, but he stopped.  On an impulse, he stepped inside the kitchen and looked around. 

Frodo's gaze shifted from the bare tabletop at the squeak of the hinges, and his face brightened upon recognizing his friend.

"I just wanted to say good night, sir," Sam said quietly, glancing around nervously for a sign of Frodo's healer.  

"She's gone," Frodo said softly, and Sam couldn't suppress a gasp.

"What?  She left?" It was almost too good to be true!

"Well, she left in the end, but not by her will."

"You dismissed her?"

Frodo's cheeks blushed ever so slightly in the flickering firelight, and he nodded once.  Sam grinned from ear to ear and wished he had the courage to shake his master's hand.

"Well, there's….that is…I mean….good job, sir, if you don't mind me sayin' so," Sam stammered, blushing in his turn.  Frodo's head snapped up and he stared at his friend with badly concealed eagerness.

"You aren't disappointed?" he asked, almost desperately.  

"Of course not, sir," Sam replied taken aback.  "I didn't like her none too well, and I didn't quite agree with many of her ways of doin' things.  She seemed like trouble to me.  I'm right glad she's gone, sir."

Frodo sighed and leaned back in his chair.  

"I was afraid your mother might not agree with my…decision," he said, running trembling fingers through his hair.  "Thank you."

Sam was about to say once more how he thought she was a good-for-nothing, two-faced imposter, but decided against it.

"You're welcome, sir," he said instead.  "Have you had any supper?"

"No, I'm not hungry," he replied.  "I'm still rather shaken up."

"Then perhaps a nice cup of tea would settle your stomach," Sam said confidently, setting down his sack of potatoes.  "I don't reckon that lass has been feedin' you proper."

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, rising from his chair.  He lifted the teapot from its hook over the fireplace and to his surprise, found Sam grasping the handle's other end.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, embarrassed.  He dropped the handle rather abruptly, expecting Sam wanted it, yet the younger hobbit did the same, and the teapot crashed to the ground with a loud band.

Sam snatched it up, red to the tips of his ears.  But to his surprise, Frodo was smiling. 

"Sorry, sir," he apologized, and with a grin skipped merrily out to the well.

~*~

            "Sam, this is terrible," Frodo sighed, flexing his fingers from their cramped position.  Sam nodded in agreement, face buried in an almost empty cupboard.  "She's a thief!"

Again, Sam nodded, muttering.

"I wouldn't have expected much more out of her, sir."

Frodo picked up the quill pen again and ran over the inventory list before him.  His friend had offered to come over the very next day and find out how much damage the imposter had caused.  So far, the results were not pleasant.

"Two sacks of fine flour, eight jars of preserves, six cheeses, three bottles of wine, a keg of ale…look at this!  Terrible!  I know these were not missing before she was here, because I checked everything the day before Gandalf came.  The question is, did she steal them or eat them?"

Sam shrugged and resumed restocking the cupboards.

"Shall I check the silver spoons, sir?" he asked.  "You know how careful Bilbo is with them."

Frodo nodded, but Sam found there were none missing.

"This is too puzzling to think over inside," Frodo said, moving the writing to the side.  "Would you like to take a break?"

"If you would like to, sir," Sam replied.

"Honestly, do you _want _a break?"

Blushing, Sam nodded quickly, and the two donned their coats, stepping out into the brisk autumn air.  They walked silently, each absorbing the scenery, content merely in each other's presence.  The day was one of those rare occurrences in nature when the sky is perfectly blue, the temperature thrillingly cool, and the sun welcoming in its warmth.  The trees were ablaze with brilliant color: stunning orange, crimson scarlet, rich yellows and deep purples.  The fields, for all their barren stalks and abandoned soil, gave a homey feeling of permanence to the landscape, and the plump squashes stood proudly amongst the ruin of their vines, triumphant victors that they were.

Although Frodo reveled in the beauty around him, he couldn't help but feel a twang of past memories at the familiar season.  Autumn to him was a time of belonging.  Death, or coming death, sank such deep roots into the soil.  The trees, the greenery were all dying.  They were spreading their last mantle on their resting place, giving in to the call to lie down and become the ground on which they had grown.  Trees showed so much faith in the ground.  They willingly scattered themselves about, showing such trust.  They belonged to the Shire, as the Shire belonged to them.

Gazing out his bedroom window at Brandyhall, Frodo had often thought such things with a deep sadness.  He would never be able to belong to the land as the trees did.  Constantly battered and pushed from one hold to another, he was like the wind, knowing no home but watching as it passes those who, content, give no heed for the homeless pilgrim.

Frodo sighed, and Sam noticed his melancholy air.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked genuinely, concern filling his brown eyes.  

_'What an amazing hobbit,'_ Frodo thought.  _'He's so concerned for my well-being, and he barely knows me!  Never has a hobbit shown so much devotion to me than Sam.  He's done so much for me, and yet he continually asks to do more.  What an amazing friend!'_

Frodo smiled and answered softly.__

"You already have."

~*~ 

            Three shadowy figures huddled together behind the Green Dragon stable, whispering to each other in low voices barely audible above the loud drinking sounds pouring out of the back door of the tavern.  Although they all were hooded and cloaked, one figure's dress poked disturbingly from the hem of her cloak, betraying the femininity within.  One of the other figures shifted uncomfortably and said in a loud voice

"And what do we get out of it?"

The girl's hand shot up and grasped the fabric of his hood, pulling his face close to hers.  She whispered something, and the other figure pried her off.  The two shook hands and departed, taking their own separate ways into the black night.

~*~

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"_Yes_, Sam.  I'm not going to die."

Sam cast a wary look back, one hand on the doorknob and the other on yawning doorframe, hesitating between going home to help his family and staying.  His friend gave him a gentle nudge towards the door.

"Sam, you have a large family that needs your help.  You've spent enough time caring for me."

"But, what if…"

"I insist that you go home," Frodo said firmly, and Sam sighed, taking a cautious step outdoors.  "Goodbye!  And thank you!" Frodo called after him as Sam closed the front gate behind him with a small smile.  

Turning from the door, the hobbit closed it behind him and was instantly struck by the silence reigning in the empty halls.  Only the faint tick-tock of the clock on the mantelpiece gave rhythm to the passage of time within the ageless halls.  He suddenly felt very small and alone in such a big smial.  Anything could happen to him here in the long winding passages, and no one would know.

~To be continued!~


	18. Beneath the Bed of Tulips

**The Master of Bag End**

Disclaimer:  I don't' own Lord of the Rings, or any such stuff.****

**_Thank you_ to Breon Briarwood, Frodo Baggins 88, laurajslr, Ms Hobgoblin, Kaewi, and Iorhael for reviewing!!  ***hugs*  And, surprise!  I have all the way up to chapter 23 written.  Now all I have to do is edit them, send them for editing, re-edit them, and post!  Thank Myfanwy if you have the chance for beta-ing for me!!  ****

**~Chapter 18~  Beneath the Bed of Tulips  **

~~~~*~~~~****

            For all the terrors of the dark night, Frodo slept peacefully and was only awakened by the irritating rays of morning sun shining into his eyes.  He buried his head under the soft pillow and sighed, still trying to grasp the remaining tendrils of carefree bliss so rudely interrupted by the new day.  He had nearly succeeded in falling asleep again when a steady clip clip of shears outside his window dutifully reminded him of the waking, living world.  Groaning, he left the warm cocoon and slipped into his clothing, running hasty fingers through his hair before shuffling into the drafty kitchen. ****

He was pleased to discover that although stiff, his injuries were feeling much better.  His side no longer throbbed constantly when he moved around, and his arm was nearly back to normal.   ****

As he slumped at the table, blinking sleepily at the cupboards while trying to decide what to eat, a loud yelp in the garden snapped him to wakefulness.  He sprang to the door and flung it open, wincing as the bright sunlight temporarily blinded him.  Once his eyes adjusted to the light, the golden, tranquil beauty of the morning was washed away with the sight of Sam kneeling among a bed of tulips clutching his hand in agony.****

"Sam!" Frodo cried, urgently rushing to his aide.  ****

Sam blushed and tried to hide his bloody hand, but Frodo caught it and examined it hastily.  ****

"A little deeper and you would have needed stitches!" he exclaimed, leading Sam into Bag End.  "Once we get it fixed up you can tell me how it happened."****

Sam sat at the table rather stiffly as his friend quickly filled a bowl with water and began washing the injury.  The cut ran from between the thumb and forefinger to the base of his palm, and although it wasn't deep, it would make working difficult for days.  He wasn't accustomed to being pampered, and the unusual attention increased the awkwardness of the situation.****

"What a clumsy ninnyhammer I am!" he exclaimed, frustrated.  "Now I won't be able to hold anything, and the garden'll be that much more difficult when I can get back to it."****

"Hush, Sam," Frodo said quietly.  "It will only be for a few days, and I think you deserve a break."  He tied the cream-colored bandage securely and Sam tried flexing his fingers.  Finding nothing broken, he sighed and began to explain.****

"I was weeding the tulips as you can see, when I pulled up a big weed with a mess of dirt caught in the roots.  Well, I saw somethin' in the hole and got my trowel to dig it out.  But when I hit it to loosen it up a bit my trowel broke and split my hand."  He shook his head, smiling slightly.  "I still ain't found out what it was.  A rock is what, probably." ****

Frodo's eyes gleamed mischievously as his imagination ran wild.  Although he knew it wasn't likely, he decided to have fun with the situation.  He was, after all, feeling rather excited and ornery today.  Perhaps it was jubilance in his recent success, or joy at finding a new friend, he didn't know.  But he hadn't felt so open and spontaneous in a long time.****

"It could be buried treasure," he hinted cunningly.  "Perhaps you've stumbled across an ancient map to a treasure chamber hidden on a lonely island far away.  Or what if it's a trap door that leads underground to a secret cave, where dead skeletons sentry over a great King's tomb?"****

"Or it could be just a rock," Sam said, shuddering at the gory mention of skeletons, but he couldn't dampen the Baggins spirit of adventure.****

"That too," Frodo nodded, "but wouldn't it be awesome if it _was _treasure?"****

"I suppose so, sir," he agreed, deciding to play along.  He had never seen Frodo so animated.  His normally expressionless face had come alive with a world of color and movement.  Blue eyes darted dreamily about the room, seeing far-off lands and waterfalls and great plains horsemen all in a bare brick wall.****

"Come, Sam!" he urged, nearly pulling his friend back out the door.  "Let's unearth this rock of yours!"****

~****

            The two young hobbits knelt amongst the tulips, digging steadily in the earth with small shovels and occasionally their hands.  As more of the mysterious flat object was uncovered, their haste increased excitedly. ****

"Look!  There's a corner, sir!" Sam suddenly exclaimed, and Frodo gasped in surprise.****

"So it is!  Well…I had no idea…never mind, keep digging!"****

All the faster they dug, and surprised shouts of discovery came all the quicker.  They didn't care anymore how dirty they got, for beneath their feet was a small chest, slowly awakening to the cool autumn air.  Just when the sides were becoming visible, Sam winced and set down his shovel.  He hated to complain, but the pain was throbbing up his arm now and he knew it wasn't smart to over-exert a fresh cut.****

"Sorry sir, but me hand is hurtin' some," he said with a sigh.****

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Frodo apologized.  "I had forgotten you were injured.  Please, sit down and I'll keep digging.  Look, you can see four corners now!"****

"It ain't a very big chest, is it?"  Sam observed, peering into the shallow hole, hardly a foot beneath the surface.  ****

"No," Frodo replied, digging around one of the corners. He wiggled it a little, dug some more, and the chest loosened.****

"It's coming!" Sam exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.  His friend didn't reply, but he wiggled and pulled and finally it came free.****

Frodo lifted it reverently out of the hole and began brushing mud from the chest.  It was hardly larger than a brick, more of a jewelry box than a trunk, and made of fine carved mahogany studded with brass pins and hinges. ****

"How does it open?"  Sam asked, puzzled after discovering no lock, only a small knob where the keyhole should have been.  ****

"Whoever put this here must have been wealthy to afford to bury such a fine box," Frodo commented while fingering the knob.  His eyebrows knit together as he struggled to figure it out.****

"I've seen this before," he said, frustrated.  "In Brandyhall.  I remember it must be moved a certain way."****

"Up?  Down?  Sideways?" Sam suggested, and Frodo snapped his fingers.****

"That's it!  I must slide it sideways!  Sam, you're a marvel."****

The complimented hobbit blushed and stared at his toes while his friend opened the box a crack, then shut it abruptly, glancing around him cautiously.****

"Remember when I said I had spies?" he whispered, shoving dirt back into the hole.  "Lotho could be watching right now, and I wouldn't want him to find out."****

_'Lotho.'_Sam noted Frodo's mistake and placed it into a careful corner of his mind to mull over later.  He followed his friend inside and they sat at the kitchen table once more.  Adventure had captured the pair, and Sam watched with bated breath as Frodo ever so carefully opened the lid.  ****

Inside the green satin-lined box was a rolled piece of leather tied with a fraying ribbon and a ring of keys marked with strange symbols.  ****

"Sam, look at this!" Frodo exclaimed in utter shock.  "I was only jesting when I said it was treasure, and, yet….it _is!_"****

"It is?!"****

"_Yes!_ Look at this!" Frodo spread out the leather on the table, the size of a small postcard.  "It's clues, no, directions to something.  And something so well hidden must be treasure!"****

Sam shook his head in amazement.****

"It must be terrible to be so rich you have to hide your money," he said, and Frodo nodded.****

"You're right.  Whoever hid this must have been a stingy old miser, too greedy to share his wealth with hobbits who needed it badly.  Why, if I had enough money to bury I would distribute it to the poor.  Oh!  If there is money, Sam, let's give it away!  Or perhaps we can but food and clothing for them.  What do you think?"****

"I think that's a wonderful idea, sir," said Sam, heart warming at the kindness of his future master.  He would be a noble gentle hobbit, that was certain.  "I know a couple families who could use a little help."****

"Of course you would, since you've lived here longer than me," Frodo agreed. "Come, let's find this miser's treasure and put it to better use than he ever could have had the heart to do."****

 He stood up abruptly and stuffed the keys into his pocket, scrutinizing the writing for the first clue.  Suddenly his face paled and he slowly sat back down.****

"What's wrong, sir?" Sam asked, puzzled by the extreme change in demeanor.  ****

"It's in elvish," Frodo said.  "Bilbo wrote it." ****

**~To be continued!~**


	19. Treasure

**The Master of Bag End**

Disclaimer:  No Lord of Rings.  No own me.  Duh duh duh…umm,  Me no own Lord of Rings.  _cheers_

**_Thank you everybody who reviewed!!!_**

**Chapter 19  Treasure**

            All was quiet in the small, sunny room.  Plain yellow walls decked with tiny bouquets of flowers surrounded a small, brightly colored bed, upon which an elderly hobbit was awakening.  He turned his head slightly to the side, nestling against the smooth pillow, and the wrinkled eyelids fluttered weakly open only to close against the bright, intruding sunlight.

"Frodo," he croaked softly, then sighed and fell into a deep, healing sleep.

            "I…don't know what to say," Frodo stammered, still in shock at the discovery.  Sam sat motionless across from him, waiting patiently.  He too was speechless.

"I knew Bilbo wasn't lying when he spoke of the dwarves' treasure, yet I never really believed it existed, if you understand what I'm trying to say."

"I've never known you to be at a loss for words," Sam commented, "but I think you mean that you knew, but didn't really care to find out for yourself."

"Exactly," Frodo said, snapping his fingers.  "That's it.  But why would Bilbo hide a map to his treasure?  I thought he was spending it."

Sam shrugged, clueless.

"Well, a map ain't no good if you can't read it," he said, and Frodo waved it off.

"I can read it.  Bilbo taught me, but I'm still learning the details.  Wait just a moment."

He got up and left the room, returning a few moments later with an old elvish dictionary and writing utensils.

"Now," he said, settling down at the project.  "Let's decipher this.  Perhaps it will tell us why Bilbo hid it."

Sam waited patiently, swinging his legs and fiddling with the ring of strange keys while he watched Frodo translate the elvish treasure map.  Frodo didn't say a word, and since Sam couldn't read he was oblivious to anything his friend didn't wish to reveal.

The map, though faded and wrinkled, clearly displayed the floor plan of a building.  It didn't take long for Sam to discover the map depicted a section of Bag End with elvish runes scattered throughout the rooms and hallways.  Beneath the map was the paragraph of elvish Frodo had just finished translating, and the hobbit cleared his throat, smoothing the paper before him.

"It's a poem rhyming in elvish but not the common tongue," he explained.  "It gives the location in riddle and ends with this phrase: 'Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.' "

There was a moment of silence, the two hobbits collecting their thoughts.

"Bilbo's right," Sam said at last.  "You can see a person's heart by what they spend their time doin'.  You know, if they always want more money, or high status or somethin'."

"Or books, or gardening," Frodo finished, smiling.  "Sometimes I wonder whether there's more to life than all this."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"All this," Frodo gestured to everything around him.  "It's all so temporary.  One fire, one thief, and it's all gone.  Time corrodes gold.  Fine clothes turn to ash.  Old, once-beautiful homes are destroyed to make room for more _stuff_.  Accidents happen, and people you love die…" his voice trailed off into a wistful sigh.  "You can never be certain of anything, Sam.  People who pursue treasure of any kind are doomed to disappointment.  There must be something out there that doesn't fade, or fail."

"Something that keeps the flowers bloomin' season after season and lets the sun come up everyday," Sam cut in, and Frodo looked at him in shock.

"You feel it too?"

Sam nodded, glancing out the window at a blue jay perched on a watering can.

"It's like there's a great big hole inside me, some sorta emptiness, like a pastry with no stuffin'.  I keep on wondering if I'm lookin' for the wrong thing, or the wrong person to fill the hole, 'cause no matter what I try to stop it with, it stays as empty as ever."

Frodo nodded sadly.

"I wish we knew.  I wonder if everyone feels this way."

Sam shrugged, treasure map forgotten. 

"I wouldn't know, sir," he said, and sighed with longing.

            A few days later, Amber's eyes bored into those of the finicky hobbit in front of her, making the frizzled middle-aged boy squirm in her grasp.

"Are you sure he found it?" she hissed, freezing the hobbit in his tracks.

"I'm dead sure, miss," he said with a rough accent.  "I see'd them dig outta box o' some sort, and I watched 'em open it, an' inside was a leather somethin' with a bunch 'o keys.  An' I heerd them say 'treasure' and 'location' and 'Bilbo,' so I come'd ta ya straight away."

"But did they find the treasure?" she asked, and the hobbit shook his head.

"No'm.  I see'd the darkish one put it back in the box and put it up in a cupboard."

"You speak as though there are two of them," she said carefully. 

"Yes'm, there was.  A blond little kid and the one ye told me to watch."

"Samwise Gamgee," she muttered under her breath.  "This is going to be more complicated than I planned, but I have an idea.  Tonight, meet me here, and bring Tomo.  Round up more of your friends.  Tonight, we move!"

            Sam hurried along the dark lane as fast as his legs could carry him.  He knew he had missed supper with his family, but if he told them he was taking care of Mr. Frodo he wouldn't be reprimanded harshly.  For it was true.  He had promised to make supper for Frodo after bragging about how well he could cook and had accidentally stayed later than he planned.  Now the sun had disappeared from the horizon and it was the murky hour just before complete blackness when the very air seemed to be gray with dusk.  He was feeling very uncomfortable tonight and the fireflies spinning through the air seemed to be the calm before the storm.

"I'll be right glad to get home," he muttered under his breath, glancing up at the sky.  It was in that moment of distraction that he was suddenly grabbed around the middle and a hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. 

Sam fought against the villains dragging him off the road and into the bushes, but it was to no avail.  Their grip was like iron and they twisted his arms behind his back, tying them securely with rope.  He kicked and struggled, trying to bite the hand, and was suddenly slapped hard across the face.  Momentarily stunned by the blow, Sam went limp and his captors wound a blindfold around his head, stuffing a gag into his mouth.

"Stop it, stupid boy!" a rough voice hissed, and suddenly the cold point of a dagger touched the soft skin below his ear.  He instantly froze, panting with the exertion of fighting, and his heart pounded rapidly in his small chest.  He had never known such terror.

"That's better," the voice soothed mockingly, "Just be still and we won't have to hurt ye.  Now walk."

Sam stumbled forward, guided roughly by the hands clutching his arms on either side.  What did they want?  He knew he was soon to find out.

            Frodo set the book down with a sigh and left his warm chair beside the fireplace to answer an incessant banging at the front door.  Grumbling to himself, he opened it and peered out into the night.

"What can I do for you?" he meant to ask, but when he saw who the intruder of his sweet respite was, he instead asked abruptly

"What do you want?"

Amber stepped coyly inside, flinging her hair over her shoulder.

"What do I want?  I think the question should be 'Will I give you what you want?' For I think you already know the answer to the first question."

"I care not for silly assumptions," Frodo answered evenly.  "State your business and be done with it."

She clicked her tongue, obviously very content with her situation.

"Very well," she said, and clicked her fingers.  Instantly, the door was flung open and a group of ruffians hooded and masked entered, guiding a small, very confused child.

"Sam!" Frodo cried in horror at the sight of his friend blindfolded and gagged, with a dagger inches away from certain death.  Turning on Amber with fury, he demanded "Release him!  What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning or the cause, Mr. Baggins?  I want something, and once you give it to me, I'll release him."

"If you want a cursed ransom, I have no money," he glared, stepping forward.  As soon as he moved, however, little Sam was struck harshly across the cheek.  Frodo gasped and moved in closer, and this time the captive was kicked sharply in the shins, emitting a small yelp of pain.

"Stop it!" he shouted at Amber.  "There is no reason for this!  Can't you see he's only a child?"

"In that you are wrong, Mr. Baggins, for there is a reason for this."

"How can you justify beating a young child?"  Frodo was furious at Amber for her treatment of Sam, and yet at the same time absolutely terrified.  It appeared that any resistance on his part would mean pain on Sam's.  He couldn't bear to let anything happen to Sam because of him.

"As I said, I want something," Amber sighed, clasping her hands behind her back in pleasure. 

"What is it?"  Frodo struggled to keep his emotions from surfacing, especially the fear building steadily inside him.

"Rumor has it that you've found Bilbo's treasure."

"That is a lie," he answered truthfully.  "I have found no treasure."  Frodo hadn't searched for the treasure as he had intended.  He meant to protect Bilbo's privacy and wait until his uncle returned before he mentioned it.

Amber sighed.

"Must you be so uncooperative, Mr. Baggins?  Very well, as you insist."

Sam was thrown whimpering to the floor, and the masked hobbits began kicking him viciously in the back.

"Stop!" Frodo shouted, and rushed forward with a fury he hadn't known he possessed.  He dug his shoulder into the nearest ruffian's side, flung him aside, and had pummeled another in the stomach before he himself was grabbed and hauled away, fighting fiercely against the arms that fought to restrain him.  It wasn't long before he was subdued and held tensely between two male hobbits, arms twisted painfully behind his back.

Sam was picked up roughly and slung over one of Amber's cohort's shoulder, and she led the procession into the depths of Bag End, passing old doors and musty hallways until they came to a small room rarely used, with no windows and only one door. 

There, Sam was dumped like a sack of potatoes and the blindfold was torn from his eyes, the gag ripped from his mouth.  The remaining ruffians stood around him in a circle, brandishing clubs and sticks that had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"As you have discovered, Mr. Baggins," Amber said in a wickedly polite tone, "the more resistance you offer, the more your little friend is hurt.  Now, tell us the location of the treasure and we'll set him free."

In the debate raging in his mind, Frodo weighed his options.  He could tell the location of the treasure and free Sam, but then Amber would get what she wanted and would be free to do the same to countless others, for he knew wealth didn't satisfy.  Or, he could refuse to reveal his knowledge, and Sam would be tortured.

"Why did you capture Sam, not me?" he asked, and Amber rolled her eyes.

"Stalling for time, are you?" she mocked.  "Who would come for you?  Bilbo?  He's gone.  He's left you, Frodo, leaving you the treasure as well.  It's yours to dispense, being master of Bag End in his absence.  So you shouldn't feel bad about robbing him."

"You still haven't answered my question," Frodo said calmly.  "Why do you insist on hurting Sam when it is my knowledge you want?"

"It would never work to torture you, for I know the loyalty you bear towards others surmounts any degree of physical pain.  Therefore it only makes sense to pry the location from you through the suffering of your friend."

"I see you have put much thought into this foul deed," Frodo stated, and she grinned.  "Perhaps an agreement can be reached?"

"Ahh," Amber smiled, "I see you have come to your senses at last.  So where is it?"

"I did not mean to imply as to the location of the treasure, I meant…"

"Ah ha!  So you _do_ know where it is!"  Her eyes gleamed with greed, narrowing to cat-like slits.

"No, you did not allow me to finish!"  Frodo took a deep breath, and a deep peace settled over his mind.  He had no doubt he was doing the right thing.

"Release Sam, and take me in his place."

**To be continued!**

From the Bible.


	20. Counter Play

**The Master of Bag End**

Disclaimer: I'm disinclined to acquiesce the copyright to material relating to Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

**loveofthering****: **Hello! So wonderful to see you! I'm glad you're enjoying this story, and yes, Amber is terribly wicked for hurting poor Sam. We'll see what happens next!

**laurajslr****:** Thank you! I'm so glad you appreciated the wonderments of our heroes. Will they find the answers though? That remains to be seen…

**Breon**** Briarwood:** lol, thanks for reviewing! She _is_ evil, but all evil comes to naught in the end.

**Iorhael****:** Thank you for reviewing! Will she take Frodo instead? Read on…

**Kaewi****:** Yes, my beta reader said it was about time for an update. I'm getting confused now about how much I've said about Bilbo, because you see I'm working on chapter 26 and this whole section kinda blends together for me. I guess if it was a book it would all be one chapter, but obviously this isn't a book!

**Midgette****/Mayberry:** No, I have not watched Alias. I don't watch much TV, but my English teacher has a poster of that show so I think even if I did I wouldn't watch it. Out of curiosity, why do you ask? Thanks for reviewing, though!

**Frodo Baggins 88:** phew thank you for backing me up! You know, ff.net just changed their uploading formatting thingy, and it changed my document! I'm going to try and fix it, but thank you for pointing it out because I don't think I would have noticed!

**Julia Baggins:** Hello! Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like this story. As for more Frodo and Sam scenes, coming right up!

**Chapter 20 Counter Play**

**(I'd like you all to bear witness to this auspicious moment in history- the twentieth chapter, breaking my previous record of 19 chapters, belonging to 'Of the Aberration of a Hobbit' cheers)**

* * *

"Take you?" Amber sneered viciously, coming to stand face to face with the contained, yet controlled Frodo. Though it hardly seemed possible, her eyes narrowed until it appeared she could barely see from them, and then suddenly she stepped back with a gracious sweep of her hand.

"Why should you take his place? If I had wanted you to be in his place, I most certainly would have put you there. I have waited long for such an even to occur, why now should I change my mind?"

"Because," explained Frodo calmly and evenly, "as you said yourself, I will not give away the location of the treasure, assuming I knew where it was, even unto death. If I, in your reasoning, were so stubborn to rather die than speak, why should I be more gracious to another not myself?"

Frodo hated saying the words, for they were an utter falsehood. He hoped Sam would understand, considering their present situation. The walls of the small room seemed to close in around him and Frodo imagined the cold boards of the floor pressing against Sam's chubby cheek. He remembered the feeling all too well and would not wish it against his worst enemy.

"Do you realize what you are saying?" Amber said cautiously, raising an eyebrow. "If you were in his place, you would be the tortured one."

"No!" Sam suddenly cried, twisting around to plead with his friend. "Don't do it, Mr. Frodo!"

But Frodo only drew himself up taller and staring Amber boldly in the face he said clearly

"So be it."

The hobbit lass nodded her head with a crooked grin and Frodo was shoved roughly forward, sprawling on the floor beside the freed Sam. As the ropes were twisted around his wrists, he tried to grin at his friend, hoping to spark some light of hope into the situation, but the tears in Sam's eyes betrayed a great despair.

Frodo was yanked roughly to his feet his hands bound in front of him, and was held facing the lass behind the conspiracy. A wicked grin was on her face, and she applauded loudly.

"Well done, Mr. Baggins, well done," she said, and Frodo realized with shame and horror this had been her intention all along.

"You used Sam to capture me!" he accused, glaring at her. "You knew I would take his place. But why go to all the trouble?"

"All in good time, _sir_."

"But…" Sam protested, held on both sides as Frodo had been a moment before. He was silenced, however, by a piercing glance from his friend. Frodo knew she planned to use his own physical pain to wrench the location of the treasure from Sam, who would do anything to save his master.

Thus was the one and only flaw in Amber's plan; for although Frodo did, in fact, know the location, Sam did not.

"Sam, I'm older, and I can endure more. Don't worry about me," he said hoping to soothe the anguished young lad whose eyes were already brimming over with tears. He was, after all, only thirteen years old and not even half of-age.

"I can endure more, Sam, don't worry about me," Amber mocked in a high voice, and laughed loudly. "We'll see how much you can endure, Mr. Baggins."

As if on cue, Frodo was pummeled, hard, in the stomach and he fought to control his breathing. He knew if he broke, Sam would too.

_'Not only the fate of Bilbo's treasure, but of countless other hobbits rests in my hands,'_ he thought with surprise. _'Please, help me.'_ The plea came without thinking, and he was shocked to find it. _'It's as if I was talking to someone, yet, somehow, I feel that He heard me.' _ He didn't have much time to mull over it, however, before he was stuck again, in the same spot, and he found it slightly harder to repress his facial emotions. The pain hadn't exploded yet, but he knew from countless experience it would soon.

"Endurance, Mr. Baggins," Amber said, pacing in front of him, hardly lifting an eyebrow as Frodo was slapped viciously across the face.

"It's strange how a healer can so quickly become the torturer," Frodo said evenly, and the produced effect was exactly what he had hoped for.

"Do you presume to insult my healing skills, again?" she seethed, towering over him.

"Presume? No, quite the contrary."

Quick as a snake, she raked her fingernails across his cheek, leaving three oozing stripes of blood in a stinging trail behind her. She snatched a long, knobbled stick from one of her hired hobbits and flipped her head around. Frodo was spun roughly until his back was facing her, and she wasted no time. Again and again she brought the stick down, screaming across his back. He bit his lip to stifle the cries of pain, and he shut his eyes so tightly tears leaked out of the corners, but he uttered not a word. He couldn't, because of Sam.

* * *

If Sam hadn't been supported by the thugs on either side, he would have collapsed, bawling by now. He couldn't bear to watch the horrible woman strike his dear friend's back over and over, and he couldn't stand the small droops of blood oozing through the white shirt.

But what was most unbelievable was that it was happening here, in Bag End! This smial was supposed to be a place of laughter and merry-making, not torture and brutality.

_'Please let my Gaffer come, please let him come and find us,'_ Sam begged in his mind, and he too was surprised to find himself talking to Someone. It was comforting somehow to feel as though he was being heard, and gradually a peace settled over his mind. A gentle trickle, like a brook on a sunny day, started in the back of his head, gingerly spreading its warmth into the furthest corners, dispelling all black, paralyzing fear and replacing it with a golden mist, sweeter and fuller than anything he had ever experienced.

_"Do not worry,"_ a Voice said, _"I am with you."_

"Yes," Sam whispered, dried tears on his face. "You are with me." And he tightened his jaw, raised his head, and stared Amber squarely in the eye.

"Stop hurting him," Sam said evenly and her stick fell, a grin of triumph on her face.

"So, you're ready to talk?" She asked, coming nearly nose-to-nose with him.

"I am, but not about no treasure."

She sighed, but threw the stick away.

"Of course you're not going to talk about the treasure; you're going to tell me where it is."

"Yes, I am."

"No, Sam!" Frodo cried, and was immediately silenced by a thick blow.

"First, tell me why you're looking for it," Sam said evenly. His words came too naturally to be his own, for Samwise Gamgee would have stuttered and stumbled over every syllable.

"Why I'm looking for it?" She asked, clearly surprised at such a question. "Well, why else? To get rich."

"And what would happen once you had it?" he asked.

"Why, I'd pay these fine hobbits and then enjoy it. Party, have fun, be happy."

"Really? You'd be happy, until it's all spent. Then what?"

Amber paused for just a second, and then turned on him ferociously.

"Your friend is going to pay for these silly questions of yours," she hissed through his teeth. "_I_ am in charge here; I should be the one asking _you_ questions."

"Then why aren't you?" Frodo asked defiantly, showing he was beaten but not broken.

"Because I have already asked my question, Mr. Baggins." Her voice was barely controlled, and it was apparent to all that she was fighting to regain the upper hand. The atmosphere in the room tensed even greater with a long silence, broken only when one of the henchmen shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the next. Amber was trying to calm her raging nerves, Frodo was kept busy trying to suppress his pain, and Sam was asking the Voice for more help, not only for himself but also for his friend.

Suddenly, to his surprise, he was hurled forward roughly and pinned against the floor with a bony knee.

"Tomo!" Amber barked, "Release him! Mr. Baggins made us a deal, and we must honor that."

"Why?" the hobbit retorted as he reluctantly pulled Sam up. "He ain't given us the treasure yet! 'e's just stallin' fer time. Someone could come by the time they give us the treasure!"

Amber shook her head confidently.

"No one is coming by tonight," she said evilly. "I've made sure of that. There are watchmen hidden all around, ready to deter anyone who comes by."

"So that is the cause of your audacity to hold my captive in my own home," Frodo said through clenched teeth. The pain had begun in earnest now, and he fought to smother the groans that would betray what he was suffering. Suddenly, through the haze clouding his mind, he remembered something, and he made a decision.

"Audacity? Boldness? You didn't think I had it in me, did you, Mr. Baggins?"

"If you mean to imply I did not know what you were capable of, then I'm sorry you were misled. I only thought you had more character than to rob an invalid."

"But no longer is the invalid an invalid," she said with a smile, apparently enjoying the game of words. "Yet he shall be soon if he insists on being so uncooperative. But enough talk."

Frodo tensed his muscles for the coming abuse, and but it never came. When he opened his eyes, he found Amber barely an inch away, smiling sweetly.

"Experienced, are we?" she mused thoughtfully. "How about a game of nerves?"

She reached into a wide pocket and her hand settled on something, but she changed her mind and withdrew her empty hand.

"Later," she explained, then reached into another pocket and displayed a small vial.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked, waving it in front of Frodo's face, then Sam's. "It is acid mixed with poison from poisonous ivy, oak, and other special herbs. I made it especially for you, Mr. Baggins, since Samwise here must be well acquainted with the effects of such plants."

Sam gasped as Frodo's arms were yanked in front of him and his shirt sleeves were pulled up to reveal the soft, pale insides of his arms. Amber uncorked the bottle and held it poised above them, a deadly curve to her lips.

"I don't know where it is!" Sam cried. "Frodo never told me!"

She looked to her captive for confirmation, and was met with a small, curt nod.

"I never told him," Frodo admitted, and with one swift move, she re-corked the bottle, shoved it into her pocket, and shoved him to the floor.

"You stupid, worthless piece of dirt!" she cried as she struck him again and again. "I will beat the location out of you if it's the last thing I do."

"Stop it!" Sam cried, tears running down his face as he pulled helplessly at the arms that held him. "Leave him alone!"

"You!" Amber hissed, jerking from one victim to another. She towered over Sam until he seemed to shrink into the floor, eyes glittering like cold rubies. Pulling out the bottle, she uncorked it and jerked Sam's jaw open, preparing to dump its venomous contents down his tender throat. However, before she raised the bottle she was knocked off balance and wrestled to the ground as Frodo flew into her from behind. Half the poison splashed from the bottle and landed with a hiss on the floor, and the two wrestled viciously for control of the rest.

It would have been better for Amber if her hired ruffians were loyal, but instead of jumping in and saving her they stood back and watched the play of events with amusement. They were along only for the money, and they wanted to find out what she planned on doing to Frodo for ruining her revenge.

It was hardly an instant before Amber had Frodo pinned beneath her weight, for the hobbit still had his hands bound and was in quite the disadvantage. She held the bottle aloft, and hesitated for effect, preparing to empty the searing contents. However, in that split second of pride, Frodo flung up his bound hands to protect himself, striking the bottom of the bottle and sending the poison splashing into her face.

Amber screamed and reared, hands flying to her dripping face, then screamed all the louder as her hands were coated too. Frodo rolled into a corner, as far away from her as possible, and hid his face from the gruesome spectacle. He didn't dare look, for a slight hissing and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, sick and sweet. The echo of her tortured screams pierced the heart of Bag End, and he couldn't help but feel pity for the creature, so consumed with greed and now destroyed by her own folly.

Slowly the screams died away into pathetic whimpering and choking, and he glanced up just in time to see her fall to her knees, reaching into her pocket.

"You…cannot stop me, Baggins," she croaked. "I still have…one more…card to play."

One of the ruffians pulled her to her feet, and the rest left the room rather quickly, throwing Sam to the floor in the opposite corner from his friend. She dragged herself up and Frodo gasped at the sight of her burned face. The skin had peeled off most of it, leaving her cheeks and forehead raw and bleeding. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were singed off, and her eyes were slowly corroding away, but a smile was on her strangely intact lips.

"Say hello to my friend," she announced, and threw a small glass jar to the floor in the center of the room, shattering upon impact. Almost instantly, from the broken shards a very black, very angry snake crawled forth.

"Goodbye," she whispered, then left the room, locking it behind her.

**

* * *

**

**To be continued!**

**Next Chapter: In the Darkness**


	21. In the Darkness

**The Master of Bag End  
**  
Loveofthering: Can Sam charm a snake? Read on to find out...hope you like this cliffhanger as well.  
  
Laurajslr: Heart wrenching! Oh, how beautiful! Thank you, that's exactly what I'm trying to do here. applauds I'm glad you didn't think the Voice was cheesy. Hope you like this chapter!  
  
Breon Briarwood: I must thank you for reviewing so faithfully. I'm glad you liked the Voice. Hope you like this chapter!  
  
Agent Pip: Hello! Thank you for reviewing! So honored that you almost cried in anticipation! Hope you like this chapter.  
  
Midgette: I'm glad it keeps getting better and better. But I guess that's the challenge with every writer, to make the slower parts just as interesting.  
  
Kaewi: Um, I don't know anything much about Eru, so I can tell you I don't know how he works or anything, so I can't write about him. Wait and see!  
  
Julia Baggins: Go in prison? I don't know, perhaps. I still have plans for her I just thought up right now, so thank you for writing your review!  
  
Iorhael: Hmm, overcome the snake? Perhaps, but not in the way one might suspect...  
  
Frodo Baggins 88: I'm glad the chapters seem to flow. I was getting concerned about that, so thank you for the reassurance!  
  
Elanorelle: Hello! waves Answers to questions will come, in time. Sorry I didn't update sooner. I've been having difficulty getting to a computer. As for Bilbo, well, there isn't much to write when one is unconscious and just laying in bed. Anyways, onto the next chapter!  
  
**Chapter 21 In the Darkness**

* * *

The room was plunged into total blackness, for as Amber made her exit she had taken the only lantern with her. Frodo and Sam were left alone and could not see a hand in front of their face, much less the deadly snake sneaking about the room somewhere. She had left them to confront an unknown, unseen terror, with no hope of escape.  
  
"Sam?" whispered Frodo cautiously, his own voice echoing hollowly off the walls. A loud sniff and tiny sob permeated the vibrating atmosphere. Silence reigned supreme in the black room, and Frodo's sensitive ears rang with millions of clamoring bells. To be left alone in such utter darkness would drive him mad if he didn't distract himself soon. He had to find someone, something to reassure himself he was still alive. Frodo reached out into the darkness, hands still bound, to find Sam. "Where are you?" He crawled forward cautiously on his wrists, feeling the floor beneath him for broken glass.  
  
"I'm over here," Sam said carefully, voice trembling. "Where are you?"  
  
"Stay where you are, and keep talking," Frodo replied. "I'm coming."  
  
"Be careful of the glass, and the snake, and the poison," Sam warned, and despite himself broke into a chuckle. "I guess there ain't much not to watch out for, sir."  
  
Frodo smiled and continued to follow the sound of his friend's voice, a living beacon in this desolate expanse of nothingness. The warm, breathing melody of Sam's young voice reached out to him, a slender pulsing ribbon of hope amidst the unpenetrable sea he swam in. The floorboards were rough under his fingertips, the splintery edges nudged up against each other rudely shrieking for more space. How far was Sam? He opened his mouth to call again, but his hand made contact with a hairy object, and Sam screamed into the darkness.  
  
"Something touched me!" he cried, recoiling, and it was Frodo's turn to chuckle.  
  
"That was me," he said calmly. "I touched your foot." He reached forward in front of his face, and Sam's searching fingers instantly latched onto his hand.  
  
"There you are!" he cried, clinging to him like very life itself. "I thought you were lost!"  
  
Frodo pulled the terrified child into his lap and held him comfortingly, murmuring softly into his ear as Sam's fears were cried into his shoulder. He remembered doing the same with his cousin Merry during a thunderstorm in Brandyhall when his parents were gone for a few days. The young lad had dove headfirst into Frodo's bed and burrowed under the covers seeking comfort from a older, braver hobbit. Little had Merry known his older cousin had received as much reassurance as he from another hobbit scared of a storm.  
  
"There, there, we'll get out of here, you'll see!" Frodo said softly, wishing he could believe it himself. "There really isn't much to be afraid of. Shhh, I've got you now."  
  
"I was so scared," Sam sobbed, "When they grabbed me and tied me up, and then, and then...I'm scared!"  
  
Frodo was reminded for the second time that night how young Sam really was, and how little he had seen of the harsh world. True, the Shire was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where nothing bad ever happened. Yet Frodo had lost his parents in a boating accident, and had grown up since in a harsh, often hostile environment. This was Sam's first exposure to cruelty, and quite a shocking one at that.  
  
'Even though he is young, this is too extreme for a child to endure!' he thought sadly. 'I must do all I can to protect and comfort him. I suppose he relies on me for strength now.'  
  
Sam's sobs had died down to a mere sniffing by now, but he still clung to his friend as fiercely as ever.  
  
"Where's the snake?" he asked fearfully. "I hate snakes, and one just crawling anywhere don't please me none."  
  
"I don't know," Frodo answered truthfully, deciding enough time had been spent in emotion and not enough spent in escaping. "Shall we find the door?"  
  
"How?" the young hobbit asked, "we can't see."  
  
"I once read a book in which a maze was solved by putting a hand on a wall, never removing it as one walked through the maze. Therefore, if we run our hand along the wall we'll run into the door eventually."  
  
"Ohh," Sam breathed, then climbed out of Frodo's lap, grabbing onto his sleeve. "I'll go behind you."  
  
They stood up and Frodo set his right forearm against the wall; his hands were still bound and nearly useless. Cautiously, he stepped forward into the darkness using the wall as his guide, Sam trailing behind. They turned one corner, and another, and Frodo was about to wish he had gone the other way when he stubbed his toe on something.  
  
His breath hissed sharply through his teeth with pain, and Sam gasped.  
  
"Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, I only stubbed my toe. But I don't remember any furniture in here."  
  
"We can look at it later," Sam urged. "Let's go!"  
  
The started once again, and had nearly reached the other corner when the welcome door frame slid beneath Frodo's sensitive touch.  
  
"I found it!" he exclaimed in relief, awkwardly digging through his pockets. After a fruitless search, he asked Sam  
  
"Do you have a hairpin?"  
  
"A hairpin, sir?" the hobbit answered in surprise. "What for?"  
  
"I am going to pick the lock," Frodo replied, and Sam spoke up excitedly, if not with a hint of scolding.  
  
"You know how to pick a lock?" he asked. "But isn't that wrong? Where did you learn?"  
  
"Yes, it is wrong if you use it for bad purposes," Frodo answered. "I learned at Brandyhall marauding through the pantry for forbidden treats, and I taught it to my cousin Merry. He's about your age, and is becoming quite the mastermind at such arts."  
  
"Why did..."  
  
"There's not time for more questions," Frodo said a little harshly. "We need to get out before the snake gets us first."  
  
"Sorry," Sam apologized, and paused as he dug through his pockets. Up until now the full intensity of their situation had not breached Frodo, but as something cold and smooth slid past his foot and he froze in horror, he could feel panic beginning to conquer reason. Thankfully, Sam saved him as he thrust something into Frodo's hand.  
  
"What is this?" Frodo asked, feeling it carefully.  
  
"It's a bit of wire I picked up in the garden, and I meant to throw it out, but I forgot," Sam explained. "I'm sure glad I forgot."  
  
"Me too," Frodo agreed as he felt along the wooden door for the lock. Soon his fingers touched cold metal and he worked the wire into the lock, feeling around for the tiny mechanism. He was glad the task did not require one's eyesight, only experience and touch. However, it was a peculiar lock, and it was taking longer than he had expected.  
  
"Sorry, Sam," he apologized, "It's taking a little longer than I hoped."  
  
"That's alright, Mr. Fro...AH!" Sam shrieked and threw himself to the side, away from Frodo.  
  
"The snake!" he cried in horror. "He's on my ankle!"  
  
Blindly, Frodo rushed forward and stumbled over his friend in the dark, falling hard to the floor on the other side.  
  
"Sam!" he called, springing to his feet and hearing his friend scuffling around in the dark somewhere.  
  
"Help me!" the hobbit cried in terror. "He won't get off!"  
  
Frodo ran towards the sound and tripped over Sam again, this time cutting his hand on a bit of glass. Tears welled up in his eyes at his helplessness. He couldn't even find Sam to save him.  
  
"FRODO!"  
  
Frodo whirled around, groping blindly, and his fingers grazed Sam's back. He snatched onto his friend's clothing, determined not to loose him again, and felt for his ankle.  
  
"Hold still!" he commanded. "Stop moving!"  
  
"Augh! I hate snakes!" Sam writhed, and Frodo finally found his calf. He gripped it hard and felt for the snake around his friend's ankle, and a small cylindrical body quivered beneath his touch.  
  
There was a violent hiss, a sudden cry of pain from Sam, and Frodo wrenched the snake away. He bashed it on the floor again and again until it was crushed, then flung it as far away from them as possible. A muffled thud, a short slide, and it collapsed on the floor, dead.  
  
Frodo fell to his knees, panting with relief and horror.  
  
"Sam?" he gasped finally, "Are you hurt?"  
  
"I...I think it bit me," Sam faltered, and Frodo's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, crawling back to where his friend lay shaking. He put his hand on Sam's arm to be sure of his presence. "Where?"  
  
"On my calf," Sam said.  
  
Frodo ran his hand along the injured limb and stopped when he found two wet puncture marks spaced evenly apart.  
  
'Oh no,' he thought with dread, 'the poison.'  
  
"Sam, the snake was poisonous. We need to get the venom out."  
  
"I have a piece of glass," he offered surprisingly calm. "I was trying to get the snake with it."  
  
Frodo felt guilt mounting steadily in his chest, and his hands trembled at what he knew he must do.  
  
"My hands are still tied, but I will do my best," he said, more to reassure himself than Sam. "I'll be fast."  
  
"Oh please sir, don't talk about it, just do it," Sam pleaded, pressing the glass into his friend's hand.  
  
Frodo ripped a strip of linen from his shirt and bound Sam's leg just above the bite to prevent the poison from spreading too fast. Quickly, he made two quick incisions over the bite, and the younger hobbit didn't utter a sound.  
  
"Sorry, Sam," he whispered, and pressed his mouth to the wound and sucked out the poison. The terrible taste lingered in his mouth even after he had spit it dry, yet he knew precious time was being wasted, for he hadn't gotten it all.  
  
He helped Sam over to the door and felt around on the floor for the wire. He had dropped it in his haste, and now cursed the moments it took to find it again.  
  
"Sam, tell me if you begin to feel dizzy or hot," he said as he worked the metal in the lock again.  
  
"Yes, sir," Sam replied, and Frodo was relieved to hear his voice wasn't slurred, yet.  
  
After a tense moment or so, he finally found the switch and released it. He sighed deeply, turned the handle, and the door swung open.  
  
The hall outside was flooded with moonlight, turning the smooth floorboards white where the pearly beams traced their pattern on the floor, and some of the light leaked into their room of captivity, turning the broken glass on the floor into thousands of tiny stars.  
  
The pair drank in the light of which they had been starved for so long, reveling in the comfort and joy it brought.  
  
"Don't try to move, Sam," Frodo said as he easily found the piece of glass again and sawed through his bonds. He slipped once and cut the base of his thumb, but before long he was finally free. He flexed his wrists and loosened his shoulder muscles, then put one arm beneath Sam's knees and another around his shoulder.  
  
"What are you doing?" Sam asked as his friend picked him up.  
  
"I'm carrying you." Frodo smiled and Sam watched his face, tired but triumphant, emerge from the darkness into soft moonlight.

* * *

**To be continued!**


	22. Vigilance

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The Master of Bag End  
**  
_**THANK YOU** Frodo Baggins 88, Julia Baggins, loveofthering, Breon Briarwood, Agent Pip, heartofahobbit, Kaewi, laurajslr, Elanorelle for all your reviews!!! and especially Leia Wood, who reviewed on nearly every chapter. _

Disclaimer: This is the last disclaimer. No more after this, so Disclaimer for chapters 22-... : I DON'T OWN LORD OF THE RINGS! Dah! Finally, it's over.  
  
**Chapter 22 - Vigilance**

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A single flame burst into life, catching onto dry fluff and sending it curling into tiny red worms. The ball of fluff suddenly became fire, and almost magically transmitted its heat to kindling, then to a stack of firewood. Above the fire, an iron pot filled with water was placed to boil, yet the instigator of the administration turned his back on the fire and instead focused his attention on the small charge lying in the bed before him.  
  
"Sam?" he whispered, and the hobbit's eyelashes flickered dully. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but could only mumble incoherently.  
  
"Sam, I don't know what to do. I...I'll make you comfortable, then I'll run for help," the troubled, dark-haired hobbit stammered. In books, the hero always knew what to do. He always had some sort of experience to rely on, but this one did not. He didn't have the faintest idea how to cure a venomous snakebite.  
  
Frodo propped his friend up with a pillow, covered him lightly with a sheet to cool him down, gave him one last drink of water, and left.  
  
He slammed the door behind him and took off running in the crisp autumn night. Any sensible hobbit would have at least draped a cloak around his or her shoulders, but Frodo hadn't stopped to think of it. The cold wind whipped through his hair, drying beads of perspiration upon contact, and he shivered violently. His feet flew down the hard packed road, rutted with wagon tracks and studded with clumps of dry grass here and there, providing a hazardous path in the moonlight.  
  
Shadows darted everywhere, looming around corners and flitting from bush to bush. Oak trees took on a monstrous form as their gnarled branches seemed to twist and bore their way into his heart.  
  
Sam could be dying back in Bag End, in Frodo's own bed. His soul could be joining the million stars in the ebony sky, or he could be dancing with the moon. To lose Bilbo, and then Sam, that was too much. And such a fear gave terrific speed to his legs.  
  
He practically sailed down the hill, and just as he rounded a corner a dog's bark exploded into the night, startling him so much that, in glancing over his shoulder, he tripped on a tuft of grass and sprawled headlong in the dirt road. Paying it no mind, he rose and continued on his way, mind one blank sheet of fear and desperation.  
  
Finally, a light in the window of #3 Bagshot Row sat patiently in the distance, yet just when Frodo was set for the final sprint, an intense pain ripped through his side and he doubled over, coughing.  
  
Of course! How could he have been so foolish to be running on not fully- healed ribs? They were still delicate at this stage, yet he was pushing them far beyond their limit.  
  
"Never mind that," he said through gritted teeth. "Sam needs me to get help."  
  
He clamped his jaw firmly and pushed on, doing his best to ignore the pain. Why didn't Sam's home seem to be coming any closer? He could do nothing but keep running, though, hoping that he wouldn't collapse before obtaining help.

* * *

Bell Gamgee paced nervously around the kitchen, wringing her apron in her hands.  
  
"I had no idea Sam was missing until he wasn't in bed," she explained to her husband and eldest son.  
  
"Don't worry, mother, he's probably at Bag End," her son said, shrugging on his coat. "You know how much he adores the place."  
  
Suddenly, a furious pounding on the front door echoed straight to their ears.  
  
"Sam!" gasped Bell, and she rushed to open the door.  
  
"Mrs. Gamgee?" The light from the door did not reach beyond the threshold, and the speaker stood in complete blackness. But she thought she recognized the voice through the suppressed gasps for air.  
  
"Please, come in," she said, holding open the door, and to her surprise the offer was declined.  
  
"No, there's no time. It's about Sam."  
  
"My boy?"  
  
"Yes, he's been bitten by a snake, and needs immediate medical attention."  
  
"Who is it?" The Gaffer's rough voice poured over his wife's shoulder. "What do you mean he's been bitten by a snake? Are you reliable?"  
  
"It's Frodo, Frodo Baggins," the voice answered quickly, as though that bit of information didn't matter.  
  
"Mr. Baggins!" cried Bell, shocked. "Please come in and tell us more!"  
  
Frodo stepped inside the dim hallway, features barely recognizable in the diminishing light. But it was apparent he had been running, for he was still trying to catch his breath.  
  
"Sam was bitten by a snake," he said evenly. "I was able to get some of the poison out, but he has a fever and it's evident the venom is spreading. I didn't know what to do save fetch a healer. I was hoping, Mrs. Gamgee, that you could see to him at Bag End while a healer is being summoned."  
  
"Oh," she breathed in shock, "oh dear, oh dear. But I will come. Son, ride for the nearest healer. I will get my basket and return with you, sir."  
  
She and her son left immediately, and Frodo was left alone with the Gaffer for the moment.  
  
"How did it happen?" the older hobbit asked anxiously.  
  
"We were trapped in a room with the snake, and while we were trying to get out it bit him," Frodo explained abruptly. The Gaffer had a haunch that he wasn't telling the full truth, but decided to obtain more details later, for his wife had returned with a shawl draped around her shoulders and her basket on her arm.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am," Frodo said politely, backing out the door.  
  
"Why, didn't you bring a cloak?" Mrs. Gamgee asked, seeing a tremor shake his frame from the cold autumn night.  
  
"No, I had not the time."  
  
"Well, why don't you borrow one of my son's?" she offered, but the gentlehobbit shook his head.  
  
"Every minute in luxury is a minute wasted," he said urgently. "Sam needs care."  
  
Bell was puzzled as to why Frodo would think a cloak was a luxury.  
  
"But you'll catch your death out in this cold," she protested, reaching into the closet for a warm, woolen cloak.  
  
"Oh no, ma'am, I couldn't," he objected, thankful that the darkness of the hallway hid the blush creeping across his cheeks. "No doubt your own sons need it."  
  
"None of them are goin' out tonight," she encouraged, and flung it around his shoulders, buttoning it before he had a chance to protest. "There, all snug. Now we can go."  
  
It had been so long since Frodo had been tucked into anything by a mother. He had expected the longing would vanish as he matured, but suddenly it returned, fresh and painful as ever.  
  
"Sam is fortunate to have you for a mother, Mrs. Gamgee," he said sincerely, a prickling sensation at the back of his eyes. He turned away abruptly and stepped out into the night, followed closely by Sam's mother on their way back to Bag End.  
  
Somehow the dark didn't seem so frightening when the cloak smelling of rose water and moth balls was on his back and he had Bell Gamgee as a companion.

* * *

The mother's hands flew to her face and she knelt by her son's bedside, taking his small, hot hand in hers and placing a sweet kiss on his feverish brow.  
  
"Oh Sam," she murmured, brushing a sweaty curl away from his face. "Shh, now, I'm here."  
  
Sam's eyelashes fluttered open and his lips curved into a small smile.  
  
"Mother?" he said weakly, and coughed, wincing in pain. "My leg hurts."  
  
"Don't worry, dear," she said softly, "not for long. Let me make you some tea to help you sleep."  
  
"What about...Frodo?" he said haltingly. "Is...he hurt?"  
  
"No Sam, I'm not hurt. I'm right here." Frodo came gingerly into the room and knelt beside the bed. He gently took a cloth and wiped Sam's forehead.  
  
"But Amber...she...she hurt..." his words were broken off by a raspy fit of coughing, to the relief of Frodo. He knew Mrs. Gamgee had enough to worry about without adding him to the list. Now that fear no longer consumed his mind, he was feeling the beginnings of pain racking through his body. He remembered the beating he had taken, and decided to take care of any tell- tale signs while Sam's mother watched over him for a moment.  
  
"I'll fetch some more water," he said, excusing himself from the room.  
  
Once he was out of their sight, he retrieved the shirt he had worn yesterday from the hamper, drew the promised bucket of water, and retreated to a guest room to tidy up.  
  
Once inside behind the locked door, he pealed off his shirt and grimaced at the bruises marring his chest and stomach. He then turned his back to the mirror and examined its reflection.  
  
"That's going to hurt tomorrow," he murmured, wiping the blood away with a washcloth from the opened cuts. Replacing his shirt with the 'clean' one, he only hoped they wouldn't re-open and soak through, though he had chosen a dark blue one crisscrossed with thin green threads, a pattern that would hide any tell-tale blood.  
  
The only thing that was impossible to hide was the three nail marks on his face. Those he cleaned and washed up as best as he was able to, but would have to improvise their origin.  
  
"Now, enough about me," he murmured, letting himself out of the room and throwing the soiled shirt in the laundry. "It's Sam's turn."

* * *

A fire raged within Sam, or rather, within his leg. Wave upon wave of scorching pain shot from his calf to his brain, tormenting him and nearly driving him insane, for it didn't diminish or disappear. Images floated through the haze of half-consciousness.  
  
Frodo being beaten by Amber. The chest emerging from the earth. His family, Bilbo, the snake. The snake tormented him most of all, for it had been an unseen terror.  
  
He felt the silky scales encircle his ankle, and screamed in terror.  
  
"Frodo!" he called, and the answer, "I'm right here Sam," came from far, far away. Frodo was coming, always, always coming, but never there.  
  
"Where are you?" he cried in horror as the snake twisted tighter. He clawed at his ankle to get it off, but something was holding him back.  
  
"Stop, Sam dear," someone muttered softly, but it too came from a far away world. "Stop fighting me."  
  
"Yesssss, sstop fffighting meee." The snake's face loomed up out of the blackness, ugly, green and scabby. It hissed venomously at him, the tongue brushing his face.  
  
"Augh!" he screamed, and tried to bat it away. "Go! Stop it!"  
  
"Ssstop it..." it mocked, imitating his own voice. However, it didn't seem as real as before.  
  
"You're not...real..." Sam breathed, and he thought he heard voices somewhere.  
  
"Yess I am!" the snake hissed, cat eyes glowing red, merely slits in the face. "Iiih am real!"  
  
It lunged for Sam and he threw his arms up to protect himself from the incoming attack. He vaguely felt himself hit something, and relief poured through his mind. He settled against the pillows, sweat cooling on his brow.  
  
He had conquered the snake. He was better now, and could sleep peacefully.  
  
It was done.

* * *

The healer breathed a deep sigh of relief and removed his spectacles, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.  
  
"The fever has broken, Mrs. Gamgee," he said, smiling. "Your son will live."  
  
Sam's mother put her hands over her face and sighed deeply, anxiety and fear draining from her as she finally relaxed. She glanced out the window at the rosy dawn, slightly surprised it was not much later.  
  
"How can I ever repay you?" she asked gratefully, but the healer shook his head.  
  
"It isn't to me you owe your debt," he said, motioning to the lad beside the sick bed. "It's to young Frodo here. He saved your son's life by immediately removing some of the poison. That much poison in Sam's system could have killed him within minutes."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee gently put her hand on Frodo's shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she said kindly, but received no response. "Frodo?"  
  
The hobbit started suddenly and glanced up at her in surprise, as though coming from a dream.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't hear you," he said.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for savin' my son's life," she repeated, then gasped, pointing to his cheek. "What happened?"  
  
Frodo's hand flew to his cheek in surprise and he touched the scratches gingerly.  
  
"Oh, it was nothing," he said. "An accident."  
  
"Even so, young hobbit, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have a look at them," the healer suggested, and Frodo rose from his chair defensively.  
  
"Don't trouble yourself about me," he said firmly. "I'm quite all right. It's only a scratch."  
  
"Nonsense! It's my duty to heal wounds, and since I'm here I might as well examine you too, since you were there with Sam." The healer waved off Frodo's protests with a sweep of his hand. "Come now, have a seat."  
  
"I'm quite fine, thank you," Frodo replied, only backing away further. He didn't trust healers now, after the last one. He had asked to examine him, and if Frodo complied with the healer's wishes he might find out about his beating, of which the mere memory caused his cheeks to burn with humiliation.  
  
"Frodo, the healer only wants to help you," Mrs. Gamgee urged, becoming more concerned for the young hobbit's condition. She remembered too well the recent events that almost claimed his life, and was determined not to let him slip away again.  
  
Frodo saw the stubborn glint in her eyes, and with a slump of defeat sat back down.  
  
"Do as you will," he said, averting his eyes, hoping the healer would only examine his cheek. Limply he submitted to the gentlehobbit's requests, sinking further into shame. He hated being fussed over, and to run naked through the house would have been the equivalent of revealing the bruises on his torso. Adults already said he was too skinny, and he would only hear it again. Besides, if they saw his wounds they would try to sponge them down, put ointments on them, and perhaps even bandage them. Then would come the questions, and he knew the wounds were too regular to make excuses for.  
  
"I have a salve which would help with the sting," the healer said, just as Frodo expected, and he shook his head.  
  
"Thank you, but if it's not infected I would not wish to use them."  
  
"Who did this?" the hobbit asked, but Frodo didn't say a word, so the healer repeated the question. "Who scratched you?"  
  
"The offender shall not harm me again, is the answer I believe you're looking for," Frodo answered, and rose to leave the room. "I suspect Sam will be hungry when he wakes. I'll prepare something soft and leave you two to discuss me."  
  
"Now, young Baggins, see here..." the healer mumbled, flustered, but the young hobbit only turned and left the room with a mournful, knowing glance of his sad blue eyes.

* * *

**_To be continued!_**


	23. In the Morning

**The Master of Bag End**  
  
Disclaimer: Still don't own LotR, sigh.  
  
_**Thank you** to Leia Wood, Breon Briarwood, loveofthering, Iorhael (nice to see you), Frodo Baggins 88, laurajslr, Agent Pip (wonderful to have you back!) and Kaewi for reviewing!  
  
ForeverFrodo22: Great to see you! I'm so glad you love the story! I hope you will continue to review!  
  
Aaaaaand: My lovely beta **Myfanwy**! So sorry I didn't mention her in the last few chapters! She's been such a wonderful help to me! Thank you!_  
  
**Chapter 23 In the Morning**

**

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**  
In the kitchen, Frodo heard the front door close with a soft thud and word of parting. Finally the healer was gone and he could tend to Sam while his mother rested. She deserved it, after staying up all night caring for him, bathing him, feeding him medicine, sponging him down. Now that Sam was sleeping peacefully, he wouldn't wake up for a few hours, during which she could take a well-earned respite.  
  
He spooned the porridge into a serving bowl and set it on the table among fresh strawberries, bread, and butter. Setting more water on to boil, he turned around and nearly jumped to find Mrs. Gamgee watching him from the doorway.  
  
"Oh, please excuse me sir," she said, coming into the kitchen, "but I was wondering perhaps if I may prepare something for Sam when he wakes."  
  
"If you wish," Frodo answered, "I already made some porridge for him, but if you'd like to make more, I don't know if he'll like it..."  
  
"Oh no, it smells delightful!" Mrs. Gamgee encouraged, breathing in the scent from the table. "But I think I'll make him a muffin or two. I trust I'm not interrupting your breakfast."  
  
"My breakfast?" Frodo asked, puzzled for a moment, but quickly figured out what she assumed. "No, you're interrupting nothing. I was about to come and invite you to eat."  
  
"Me?" she gasped in surprise, glancing towards the table. Frodo tried to smile as he said  
  
"Yes ma'am. I hope it is enough."  
  
The kettle was boiling, and he filled the teapot on the table, motioning for her to sit.  
  
"Please, make yourself comfortable."  
  
"What about you, sir?" she asked, noting the table was only set for one. Frodo hoped his cheeks weren't turning red, as they burned with embarrassment.  
  
"I'm not very hungry," he lied, for he was hungry, only not in the mood to eat. "I usually wait until second breakfast."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee sat awkwardly at the table, apparently surprised Frodo had made an entire breakfast for her. She hadn't had such a luxury in years. Perhaps she would make up for it by doing the washing up.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she said, spooning porridge into her plate. "Should I save some for you?"  
  
"For me?" Frodo asked in surprise, pouring boiling water into the washtub. "No...no thank you ma'am." He shifted uncomfortably, knowing she would probably ask questions soon, and slipped a small bar of soap into the water. Dark was his mood today, perhaps he was still in shock over the events of last night. He thought he knew why Amber had come to Bag End, instead of taking him from it.  
  
She apparently knew the effect would be greater if he was captured in his own home rather than some distant alleyway or deserted field. Then the refuge would become a place of terror and uncertainty, and where could he turn? If not safe within his own home, where could he flee to when troubled? She had wounded his spirit much more than his body; he knew it would be weeks before he could venture down that fateful hallway again.  
  
His hands were shaking as he picked up a dirty mixing bowl and dunked it in the hot water, and pain suddenly shot up his arm. He jerked his hand from the water, dropping the bowl, and clenched his teeth as the soap bitterly stung the open cut on his palm. He remembered now, cutting his hand on the glass, and when the pain subsided he glanced down to see the angry wound trailing diagonally from the base of his middle finger to the outside of his hand.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Mrs. Gamgee asked, coming over to see what had happened.  
  
"No, I'm not," he lied again. "The water was hotter than I expected."  
  
But her experienced eyes caught him stuffing his hand into his pocket, and she quickly took it and glancing at it, clicked her tongue.  
  
"Frodo, why did you lie to me?" she asked, guiding him over to a chair.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said solemnly as she sat him down, stretching out his hand before her. Without a word, she washed the cut and bandaged it, and when she was done, she looked him squarely in the eye.  
  
"Now, I know I'm not your guardian, but in the absence of Bilbo I think it best to tell me what happened."  
  
"I cut my hand on glass," he said, thankful that he could tell the truth for once. He was tiring of lies.  
  
"Did you break something?" Her eyes were so much like Sam's it was unbelievable.  
  
"Yes. The snake was in the glass jar, and when it broke he escaped, biting Sam." He said everything clearly yet quickly, hoping the explanation would be enough. Apparently it wasn't.  
  
"How did you come by a snake in a glass jar?"  
  
"I...it was given to me."  
  
He knew she knew he was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to say what really happened. He was still seeing dark figures in every corner and feeling their hands gripping his arms. Their ghosts were still too real to recall without bringing them back to life.  
  
"Sam will tell you everything," he said evenly, and stood. "He will probably not wake for at least an hour. If you'd permit me, I should like to watch him while you rest."  
  
Without waiting for an answer, for he knew she would argue and attempt to send him to bed, he left the room. At his bedroom door, now occupied by a sleeping hobbit, he found Autumn sitting, patiently waiting for him.  
  
"Hello cat," he said, and she rubbed against his leg, purring. "Where have you been?" She looked up at him with enormous green eyes, and he scooped her up, coming in the room to sit at Sam's bedside. He dumped her on the bed and she curled up beside the sleeping hobbit, purring even louder.  
  
The golden morning sunlight was pouring in through the window, and Frodo closed the drapes, for the bright rays hurt his weary eyes. The skin on his forehead felt stretched tight from lack of sleep, but nerves prevented him from dozing off as he watched Sam's small chest rise and fall mechanically with even breathing.  
  
Such a relief it was from the terrors of last night. Sam's delirious pleas still rang in his ears, crying for him over and over, apparently searching for his friend yet never finding him. It had pained Frodo so to be holding his hand as he cried for him, not knowing he was there. The dreadful scene of the snake bite had been replayed countless times in his mind.  
  
Searching for Sam, falling, tripping over him, getting up, plunging on through the darkness, knowing the young hobbit was desperately in need of his help but not being able to find him to give it.  
  
The darkness had been the most terrifying of all. Inky, fathomless blackness, absorbing all light. Staring into the infinite space in front of him with huge eyes, yet not seeing even a grain of a star. Knowing nothing of what was in front of him, or behind him, or beneath him.  
  
He shuddered at the memory, and the tiny cry of pain as the snake's fangs sank into Sam's soft leg. He had failed to protect his friend, because of darkness. But wasn't his fault as well, for insisting on digging for the hidden box in the garden? Perhaps if he hadn't found it, Amber wouldn't have attacked Sam.  
  
_'It's no use thinking of what could have been,'_ his hobbit sense told him. _'What matters now is that they know the truth; you failed to protect him and his illness is your fault. You deserve a punishment for nearly killing your friend, gentlehobbit. You are not gentry, and you never will be.' Depression and a sense of helpless submission came over him. 'How dare you think you can be Bilbo's heir, when you failed to protect a child in your own home? How could you have let that creature Amber enter in the first place? You should have sent her away at the door, and perhaps she wouldn't have hurt Sam as badly. It was you who thrust the bottle of poison in her face, angering her to release the snake. You should have been bitten, not Sam.'  
_  
Tears came to Frodo's eyes as he saw the pale hue of his friend's face and recalled how limply he had submitted to his mother's hands. He gingerly touched the bruise on his jaw where Sam, in his delirium had hit him right before the fever broke, and knew it was less than he deserved.  
  
_'I need to tell his mother,'_ he thought grimly. _'She must know how I hurt her son. Surely she won't want me to touch him again.'  
_  
He stiffly rose, and dragging his feet he made his way to the kitchen where obvious watery sounds betrayed dishes being washed.  
  
"Mrs. Gamgee?" he said softly, standing shyly in the doorway, and she looked up from her chore, brushing a stray curl from her face with a soapy hand.  
  
"Aye, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"I need to tell you something. I..." he faltered, swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. "I let Sam be bitten. I'm sorry." The last phrase came out in a whisper, and in two strides she had crossed the room and engulfed him in a hug. He froze, unsure what to do. It had been so long since he'd been hugged by a mother, that he wasn't sure whether to push her away or cry into her shoulder. Why was she doing this? He had just admitted to nearly killing her son, and she embraced him?  
  
Frodo struggled to pull away and she released him, wiping her eyes.  
  
"Poor lad," she said with tears in her voice. "You think because you failed to protect him that you let him get bit. I think you're just tired, and need sleep," she said, taking him by the arm and guiding him from the room. To his surprise, she led him to Bilbo's bedchamber.  
  
"Mrs. Gamgee, this is Bilbo's room," he said in protest as she sat him on the bed, but she only smiled.  
  
"I know. But since you gave Sam your bed, I don't think your uncle would mind sharing his."  
  
"Please ma'am, I'm not tired," he said as she pulled back the covers. "I put fresh sheets on his bed, and don't want to spoil them."  
  
"If you're worried about the sheets, they can be washed and replaced. Now go to sleep, and dream of nothing."  
  
Frodo climbed in bed under her request and waited until she left the room, then climbed back out. As inviting as sleep was, he didn't want to have the time. He smoothed the blankets and snuck out of the room, waiting until he knew she was washing dishes again before moving about with more freedom.  
  
He busied himself with numerous small chores around the smial, pausing every so often to listen outside the door for Sam's awakening, but the hours dragged on into the afternoon, and still no sign was given.  
  
Finally, when he could stand the confines of the halls no longer, he stumbled as if in a haze into the garden and curled up in the roots of a favorite tree. A crisp wind was blowing, biting through his thin shirt, but he didn't care. He watched the golden leaves skip too and fro on the grass before him, and gradually fell into a disquieted, troubled sleep.

* * *

**_To be continued!_**


	24. Progress

**The Master of Bag End  
**  
Disclaimer: See last chapter.  
  
_**Thank you** Kaewi, Agent Pip, Breon Briarwood, Leia Wood, Frodo Baggins 88, Julia Baggins, loveofthering, and Iorhael for reviewing!  
  
Tavion: Lovely to see you! 4 o'clock in the morning, goodness! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!  
  
LUZMELA: Hello! It's great to see you from CoE. I'm glad you could 'read ahead' in the story. Hope to see more of you!  
  
InterstellerHobbit: Hello! Thank you for reviewing! Thank you for the compliment blushes. I hope you like this next chapter._  
  
**NOTE!!** I am moving, and I'll be packing up my computer _sob_ some time next week, with no idea how long it'll be until it's unpacked and set up and therefore....an update. I _might_ be able to squeeze in another update some time next week, hopefully. But don't count on it. So, as far as my knowledge goes, this is the last update for about two weeks. Maybe.  
  
**Chapter 24 - Progress  
**

* * *

Sam woke to a yellow-gold world, a late afternoon in October. He stared for a while at the flickering pattern of leaf-shadows on the wall, feeling tired but content. His lower calf still pained him to move, and his leg was stiff, but he knew it would be improving very quickly, for he was a robust and healthy hobbit.  
  
"Samwise, darling, are you awake?" He turned his head and beheld his mother, crowned triumphantly with the setting sun, sitting beside his bed, one of his small hands in hers. He smiled broadly and tested his voice.  
  
"Yes, ma, and I'm a little hungry to tell the truth."  
  
His mother laughed, the sweet sound raining like silver bells on Sam's ears.  
  
"But of course you are," she said, smoothing the covers under his chin and giving him a sip of water. "Now why don't you lie quietly for a minute while I get your supper."  
  
She rose and had nearly left the room when a sudden urgency filled Sam's mind.  
  
"Ma, where's Frodo?" he asked, anxious to know how his friend had fared.  
  
"Sleeping," she answered with a smile. "Asleep in Bilbo's room."  
  
Sam sighed in relief.  
  
"He had a hard time of it last night, ma. He saved me, three times."  
  
His mother stopped in her tracks and sat back down, a look of concern in her eyes, and Sam continued, eager to praise his friend.  
  
"The bad people caught me and would have beaten me up, but Mr. Frodo took my place and got beaten up instead. Then when the snake bit me he sucked out the poison, and he picked the lock and got us out of the dark room. But I don't think he wanted me to tell you that."  
  
Mrs. Gamgee nodded once and gave her son another sip of water.  
  
"Thank you, dear. Now, when you've eaten and slept a little more you can tell me the whole story."  
  
"I will, ma," he said, brown eyes shining faithfully. "Mr. Frodo won't like it, but I will."

* * *

Mrs. Gamgee made her way quietly yet quickly down the hall to Bilbo's room, greatly distressed at what Sam had told her. Apparently her son had been captured somehow, had exchanged captivity with Frodo, been locked in a room and bitten by a snake before breaking their way out. But why hadn't Frodo told her about it? Had he felt Sam's accident was his fault because he failed to protect him?  
  
'A noble but blind hobbit,' she thought fondly as she turned the brass doorknob into the bedroom. A draft of cold air hit her squarely in the face, and she gasped at the empty bed sheets. Why wasn't Frodo in bed? Did he care nothing for his health?  
  
There was no end, or answer, to the mountain of questions.

* * *

Gandalf watched with great joy as the dark eyelids of the invalid fluttered weakly open, blinking in the curtain-dulled sunlight. As soon as his eyes adjusted, they wandered around the room until coming to rest with surprise on the old wizard.  
  
"G...Gandalf?" he croaked hoarsely, voice rusty with disuse, and a timid smile drew the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Yes, I am Gandalf, my friend. And it is precisely 4:30 in the afternoon on October the 30th in the house of Tom Bombadil and Lady Goldberry. You came into their care nigh on a fortnight ago, and have been in a coma for three weeks, out of which you came only yesterday."  
  
Bilbo lay quietly for a moment, then would have sat up abruptly had he the strength.  
  
"Where's my boy, Frodo? What happened?"  
  
"Frodo is in Bag End under the care of the Gamgees. He was quite ill when I left, but it has been revealed to me that he has recovered and is healing. As to what happened, he was unable to tell me but I was hoping you would remember in time."  
  
Bilbo's forehead scrunched up, trying desperately to remember, but he shook his head.  
  
"I can't seem to recall at the moment," he said sleepily, and yawned. "I am terrible tired, forgive me, my friend." His eyelids closed and he dropped off to sleep once more, with Gandalf watching faithfully over him.

* * *

A golden archway of slender birch trees roofed over a narrow, bark- laden pathway. Enchanting bird-calls sang from one point in the tiny, fluttering mass of yellow leaves, aiming for another singer hidden in the dense growth. Sunlight streamed through the tiny leaves, illuminating each crisp, iridescent edge with a gold tint of fading paint, translucent as it blended into the source from whence it obtained it's brilliant radiance.  
  
He began walking, mesmerized by the treetops, following the path whither it led into the forest unknown. How long he traversed the reverent, magical pathway, he knew not. Yet when it came to an end, he forgot the splendor he had left in complete terror of the moment.  
  
He was in a room, dark, lit with only a solitary candle. On the crisp bed before him, a body was laid beneath a limp white sheet. His feet led him to the haunting bedside, and his fingers hesitated on the corner of the covering. He could see the indentations where the sheet had collapsed in on itself, where the nose protruded, where the hands folded over the still breast.  
  
He grasped the corner and lifted the sheet away from the dead face, and gasped in horror. The elderly hobbit's eyes were closed, gray shadowing their sunken depths. His lips were blue, open in a silent plea of agony. The placid skin stretched tight over the cheekbones, so pale blue, interlocking veins bulged through the paper-thin skin.  
  
His hand trembled, and a single tear dropped quivering from his watery eyes, splashing mournfully on the corpse's cold cheek. Suddenly, as the salty token of utter loss was absorbed by the dry skin, the clouded eyes flashed open, to reveal nothing but white, glaring emptiness.  
  
He screamed in terror as the corpses' stiff hand grasped his arm and held it in an iron grasp through the sheet. The eyes, those dead, empty eyes locked into his and bore their way into his soul, seeking to overcome his will and drag him down into Death.  
  
"No!" he screamed, fighting the utter helpless despair those eyes sought to control him with. They slowly began to drain his hope, love, his wonderful memories and replace them with Nothing.  
  
But something happened. He was being shaken, someone was shaking him, gently but insistently.  
  
"Frodo!" a soft voice called, and ever so gently the corpse began to fade. Bilbo's dead, rotting corpse began to disappear into a welcoming blackness, the dark before the dawn.  
  
He began to be aware of his senses, the shuddering, piercing cold. It seeped into his back, and his leg, and a tingling sensation on his cheek betrayed its past presence.  
  
"Frodo? Come now, wake up."  
  
He blinked sleepily, beginning to tremble with cold, and realized it was raining. He sensed light somewhere to his left, a lantern?  
  
"Come now lad, that's it. Open yer eyes."  
  
'The Gaffer!'  
  
Frodo shot to his feet, eyes flying open, and promptly collapsed again from the pain shooting through his back and lower chest. Instantly, arms snaked beneath his knees and around his shoulders, and he was lifted.  
  
"Hope ye don' mind sir, but I think its best we get ye in a bit quicker than if I let ye walk."  
  
His mind was too cloudy with sleep and cold to protest, but he was dimly aware the Gaffer was right. He knew he couldn't walk very fast, even if he wanted to. He only wanted to sleep, forever perhaps. They passed through the back door, and another voice spoke through the haze thickening in his mind.  
  
"I have a bed ready for him, poor lad. I wonder why he was outside in this weather? Sleeping, was he? In the rain? Best get him outta them wet clothes."  
  
'Out of wet clothes...they're going to undress me!'  
  
He was set in a cold, hard chair, and fingers began to fumble with his buttons. Opening his eyes took more effort than he wished to exert, yet open them he did, and he pushed away the hands that sought to help him.  
  
"Please don't," he mumbled through numb lips. "I can do it."  
  
"Now now, dear, don't worry about being embarrassed. I've nursed many older hobbits in my life, and I won't look."  
  
The hands returned, and this time he nearly slapped them away. He rose to his feet and stared Mrs. Gamgee straight in the eye.  
  
"Thank you, but I'm fine," he said, snatching the nightshirt from her surprised hand. "I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself."  
  
"I can see that," she said in irritation, looking over his shivering form, and he clamped his teeth together to keep them from chattering.  
  
"Let the boy alone," the Gaffer said from the doorway as he brought in more logs for the fire. Mrs. Gamgee opened her mouth to protest, but a hidden wink from her husband stopped her short.  
  
"Very well," she said, drying her hands on her apron. "But don't complain to me when you get sick."  
  
She left the room with her husband, closing the door behind her, and Frodo sank into the chair with relief. They weren't going to see the bruises after all. His secret was safe, for the time. Stiffly, he pealed off his wet clothes and slipped the nightshirt over his head. It stuck in places to his wet body, but he didn't care.  
  
He recognized the room as one of the guest rooms near his own, with a tiny window that looked out over the garden. But he didn't bother to explore his surroundings before climbing into the bed and burrowing into the thick, cold blankets.  
  
Sleep evaded him however, for whenever he began to drift off, the nightmare of Bilbo's corpse returned to torment him, and he sat up shaking in bed. Eventually the fire died down to embers and he climbed out, re-stoked it until it was burning brightly again, and wrapped a couple quilts around him, settling onto the hearth-rug in front of the fireplace.  
  
Thus it was, curled up on the floor that Frodo spent the rest of the night, watching the flames leap and dance in a bottomless chasm before him.

* * *

**To be continued!**


	25. Letters in the Rain

**The Master of Bag End  
**

FINALLY! Yes, believe it or not I have FINALLY moved and have FINALLY updated! Thank you everybody, aka: _loveofthering, Breon Briarwood, Intersteller Hobbit, leia wood, Kaewi, laurajslr, tavion, Iorhael, Sam, and Frodo Baggins 88_ for your patience! The move went quite well, and I have finally got my computer hooked up....i would have updated yesterday but I was having internet connections problems....but oh well. For those of you whose stories I haven't reviewed yet, sorry! I have a million updates to catch up on, I think I'm going to be Frodo'd-out by the time I finish with them....

* * *

**Chapter 25 Letters in the Rain**   
  
Gray skies hung gloomily over Bag End's hill a few days later, swollen and nearly leaking with buckets of freezing rain. The rainy season just before winter's first snow had set in, right on schedule the Gaffer said. The crops had been gathered, the last berries stolen from crying bushes, and the fields were barren, waiting naked brown for their comforting white mantle.  
  
It was on such a bleak world that Frodo stared indifferently at through the window of his room as he sat on the bed, clothes held limply in his hand as he thought of nothing at all. Sam had gone home yesterday, carried out of the hole by his older brother to be cared for in his own home. As his mother left, she had promised to stop by this morning to see how he was doing, ignoring his feeble protests. He had been left alone again in the smial, a fact of which he found himself quite apathetic. He just didn't seem to care anymore what happened to him. If he wasn't safe in Bag End, he wasn't safe anywhere, so why should he creep about on tiptoes? If he was going to be captured again, then it was meant to happen and no amount worrying could keep it from occurring.  
  
With a sigh, he rose and dressed carelessly, not bothering to button his vest or dig through his armoire for a light jacket. It was cold in the smial, a drafty uncomfortable kind of cold with wisps like shivering ghosts licking past his face. Yet he turned his cheek to them and ignored their whispers, walking down the dim hallway to discover what chores were waiting for him to do today.  
  
Not being hungry, he skipped first and second breakfasts, instead busying himself with washing the laundry and hanging it up to dry in front of the large fireplace in the kitchen. There was nothing left to do but keep up the hole and wait until Bilbo came back. But what if he wasn't coming back? What if he had died? Surely Gandalf would see to a letter being sent to Bag End with an explanation. Then all he had to do was wait for a letter.  
  
Letters in Hobbiton were sent to one's home during warm, navigable weather, but during the winter-time, letters were kept in the post-office to await the addressee. Only messengers ventured out into the cold to deliver personal news, often of a death or illness or birth. Frodo hadn't seen the carrier for a few days, so he knew the mail was entering the time of year when he must go into town to fetch any possible letters awaiting Bilbo.  
  
Thus it was during the luncheon hour that he donned his cloak and made his way down the lane into Hobbiton. A freezing wind wrapped his cloak against his body, and his cheeks were scrapped red and raw with the harsh bite of winter. Not many hobbits were out today; most of them were attending to inside chores or gossiping in the inns.  
  
Years ago on a day like this, he would have curled up in front of the fire with a mug of hot cocoa, listening to his mother steadily pounding dough in the kitchen. Her arms would be coated with a layer of white flour, small puffs of the powder rising in tiny clouds with each deep shove she kneaded into the bread. His father would have come in, blowing on his hands, red from the cold and swung her around in circles before planting a wet kiss on her lips.  
  
Frodo smiled wistfully at the memory then gently pushed it from his mind, for he knew it would only awaken in him an unsatisfied longing, making him miserable for the rest of the day. He shook his head and pushed on through the cold, smoke from the shops and inns of Hobbiton rising in the air behind a wind-swept hill. He quickened his steps, eager for the warmth and shelter indoors would bring, and hopeful that perhaps there were letters awaiting his hand.  
  
Frodo grasped the freezing brass handle of the post-office and opened the door quickly, shuffling inside before the cold could dare to enter. A tiny bell announced his arrival, and the whizzened old clerk rose stiffly from a chair by the fire, pipe clamped permanently between his teeth.  
  
"Good afternoon, and a cold one at that I might add!" he said, moving behind a long counter and setting his spectacles on his nose. He squinted once, then peered at the young hobbit with surprise. "Goodness, a young lad out in this wheather? And to the post office! You'd be better off staying home on a rainy day like this, Mr., uh, oh dear. I seem to have forgotten your name. I remember your face though, eh, oh dear, always forgetting everything..."  
  
"Baggins," Frodo said quickly before the clerk could ramble on. Feeling was beginning to return to his cheeks with a sharp prickling sensation, and he was becoming rather irritated. "I would like to know if there is any mail for my uncle or I."  
  
"Ah! Baggins! You're Bilbo's nephew, eh, Drogo was it?"  
  
Frodo's heart clenched at the mistake. No one had ever called him his father before, and he knew had he been younger tears would be springing to his eyes.  
  
"No, Frodo Baggins. Is there any mail?"  
  
"For you or Drogo?" the clerk asked, turning to a wall of small boxes behind him with names engraved on brass plates beneath them.  
  
"No, for Bilbo," he said, turning to the window where tiny drops of rain were beginning to fall. He groaned silently, realizing he would have to walk home in the rain.  
  
"Bag End, Bagshot Row, is it not?" the clerk asked over his shoulder, pulling a stack of envelops from the third box from the top, fifth row. He returned to the counter and began thumbing through the mail.  
  
"Eh, there's some for Mr. Baggins, Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins Esquire, I, eh, see none for Drogo..."  
  
"There is no Drogo," Frodo said, exasperated. He reached for the envelopes, but the clerk pulled them out of his reach.  
  
"I don't see any for Drogo," he said, beginning to put them back in their box.  
  
"That's because Drogo Baggins is dead!" Frodo said more emotionally than he intended. The whole nonsensical scene was escalating his irritation to a rare height. Little did the clerk know what emotions his short-term memory was arousing.  
  
"What? Dead?" the clerk said in surprise, and realization dawned slowly on his face. "Ohh, dear me," he said at last, hurrying over to the counter and setting the envelopes in Frodo's hand. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Baggins, I truly am. This terrible memory of mine, my wife's always saying I need to have a knock on the head...then you must be his son! Good gracious me, the son of Drogo Baggins! He was a very good friend of mine, say, it was eight years ago, was it? The accident, that is. Dreadful thing, boats are. Always said no good would come of it. You stay away from boats, young lad. Keep your nose out of trouble and no trouble will come to you. I think..."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Frodo said shortly, stuffing the envelopes inside his jacket. Outside the rain was falling steadily now, although it would be pouring in a moment or two.  
  
"Oh, you're not going out in this weather?" the clerk asked with concern. "It's dreadfully cold outside, you'll catch your death. Why don't you come over to my house until it passes over..."  
  
"Thank you, but no," Frodo replied, grateful he had worn a cloak with a hood. He pulled the hood over his head and stepped out into the rain.  
  
"You be careful now!" the annoying clerk called after him as he shut the door, and Frodo breathed a sigh of relief to finally be rid of him.  
  
He hurried on through the rain, ducking his head against the onslaught of water released from the sky. His breath came in frosty clouds before him as his feet splashed through puddle after muddy puddle, for the roads were thick with them. The rain began to fall heavier, shrouding the countryside in a thick haze of gray. Everything became gray or brown, for the grass had whithered a week ago. He picked up his pace, eager to get out of the rain and into the shelter of Bag End.  
  
As he neared the end, his road went past the Gamgee's home. Merry lights twinkled in the windows, and the smoke rising from the chimney was thick against the rain. He slowed down to a walk, wishing to see how Sam was recovering. Perhaps he could inquire at the door, it would only take a moment. His hand hesitated on the latch to the gate, and he had almost decided to enter when a dark shape appeared at the window and he jerked his hand from the gate. He nearly ran down the lane, embarrassed to be caught lingering on the verge of their property. He suddenly remembered the letters in his jacket and realized he was soaking wet. What if the ink was smearing?  
  
He ran the rest of the way to Bag End, not stopping until he opened the round green door and shut it quietly behind him. He pealed away his dripping cloak and hung it upon one of the hooks beside the door, then went into the silent kitchen and laid the letters on the table, lighting a candle to read by for it was already dusk and the light was fading.  
  
Thankfully the letters were preserved, and he thumbed through them with ever dimming hopes. He had not received a single letter. They were all for Bilbo and appeared to be dull letters of business.  
  
Sighing with disappointment, Frodo left the letters scattered on the kitchen table and wearily dragged himself to his room, where he pealed off his soaked clothing and crawled into bed. He was still having great difficulty believing he had gone all the way to the post office and trudged through the pouring rain for nothing. Perhaps he had overlooked a letter, but no, he had checked them all twice.  
  
He burrowed face down into his pillows and hid from the hopelessness settling over his soul. Although it was still early, he was too depressed to do anything but sleep.

* * *

Lotho Sackville-Baggins ripped open the seal on the envelope and scrutinized the contents carefully. A letter for him? How odd. Yet one had arrived this very afternoon, and he hadn't wasted time pondering the origin. As he squinted at the letters scrawled hastily across the page, a cruel smile slowly twisted his fat lips. Slowly, he re-folded the letter and strode smugly to the window, gazing at the pouring rain outside with satisfaction.  
  
"Very well, dying Amber or whoever you are, I agree," he said juicily to the sender of this delightfully evil mission. "It will be my pleasure to do exactly as you suggested, and a whole lot more."

* * *

**To be continued!**


	26. Trust

**The Master of Bag End  
**

**by: FrodoBaggins87**

Thank you _Frodo Baggins 88, Leia Wood, loveofthering, Breon Briarwood, laurajslr, Kaewi, and Midgette_ for reviewing so faithfully! _Andrea:_ thanks for popping in again, nice to have you back. _ Aurora Baggins:_ Hello! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and yes, darkness and angst are beautiful, especially when it seems there is no hope! Thanks for reviewing!

NO SLASH in this 'fluffy' chapter. And it's not fluff, it's friendship. Ughh, bother the dude who made up the name 'fluff.' 

Thank you to those of you who have read and reviewed **'Letters to Hobbiton**.' Those of you who haven't, _hint hint...._

* * *

**Chapter 26 Trust**   
  
Hoping from one foot to the other on the cold stone doorstep, Sam and his sister waited impatiently for Frodo to open the door. Four days since the snakebite, Sam was still a little weak, but longing to escape the confines of his room and be out in the open air once again. Exercise had been his excuse to persuade his mother to let him come down to Bag End, but he really wanted to check on Frodo and see how he was faring.  
  
The day was bitterly brisk, the kind of cold that cut to one's bones; the breath of winter he had heard it called. It was biting his toes now, and he was beginning to wish for those odd foot articles called 'shoes' Frodo had told him about, when the door was opened and a voice invited them inside.  
  
The hallway was dim, and Sam's eyes had to adjust before he could clearly see the hobbit in front of him. Frodo seemed to have healed from the encounter, though his face was pale it was no longer bruised and the scratches on his cheek had nearly disappeared.  
  
"How are you, Sam?" Frodo asked with concern.  
  
"I'm much better sir," Sam replied happily, warmth beginning to trickle into his bones. "This is my sister Daisy. My mother sent her with me because I'm still recoverin' and she didn't want somethin' to happen to me."  
  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Daisy," Frodo said with a bow, and the lass nodded shyly. "Won't you have some tea?" he offered, leading them into the kitchen where a small fire was flickering on the hearth in the immaculate room. He gestured for them to take a seat at the table.  
  
"I do hope you don't mind sitting in the kitchen," he said as he took some covered plates from the cupboard, "but the parlor is rather too formal for me, and it is drafty in there."  
  
Sam fidgeted nervously as Frodo set a small tea tray on the table without rattling a cup. He should be the one serving Mr. Frodo, not the other way around. It wasn't proper.  
  
"How are you, sir?" he asked, unable to contain his anxiety any moment longer.  
  
"I'm fine, Sam," was the inevitable reply, and the young hobbit sighed.  
  
"I may have been scared stiff at the time, sir, but I remember what that lass done to you, and it t'warnt pretty," he mumbled, wondering if Frodo would become angry with his bold statement.  
  
"I know," was all he said, his back turned to Sam as he took the kettle from its hook over the fire.  
  
"Well, didn't she hurt you?" Sam asked while the stone-faced hobbit poured the boiling water into the china tea pot. He received no answer, but Frodo gave the tinniest nod in Daisy's direction and he understood, blushing. Of course he didn't want to discuss the matter while Sam's sister was here!  
  
'What a ninnyhammer I am,' Sam thought as he sipped his tea, sweetened with golden honey. The following conversation consisted of meaningless comments on the weather; was it going to snow soon? If so, how deep?  
  
As they finished, Frodo stood and offered to show Daisy something in another room. Sam began to follow them, but a curious glance from the older hobbit stayed him in his tracks, and he waited impatiently until Frodo returned, alone.  
  
"Where is she?" Sam asked, looking about the doorway to see if his sister was lingering in the shadows with gossiping ears. A mischievous light trickled from Frodo's eyes, but he kept his face perfectly calm.  
  
"She now has a companion," he said, calmly gathering up the dishes and stacking them in the sink.  
  
"Who?" Sam's curiosity was brimming over as he bounced forward in his chair. Yet Frodo said nothing, sat down, and seemed to have forgotten all about Sam's question when he said simply  
  
"Autumn."  
  
Sam grinned from ear to ear and marveled at his friend's quick-thinking.  
  
"She was having a marvelous time, and I didn't want to detract from it," he offered, sipping his tea innocently, yet Sam knew the distraction had been his intention all along.  
  
"You sure are smart, Mr. Frodo," he commented in awe, and the complimented hobbit averted his eyes quickly, staring into his teacup as though ashamed.  
  
"Anyone could have thought of that," he said quickly, and changed the subject. "You asked my why Amber didn't hurt me."  
  
"Aye," Sam replied, leaning forward. "She did, didn't she?"  
  
"I suppose at the time," Frodo said hesitantly. "But I am perfectly fine now."  
  
Sam only stared at him disbelievingly, never lifting his boring gaze until the hobbit finally sighed in compilation.  
  
"Very well," he said in defeat, but the words sounded as a million song birds in Sam's ears. They were an unspoken admittance of trust, those two common words. Frodo trusted him! He knew Sam would never willingly shame him, and was ready to accept his help!  
  
Sam could have sung for joy as he eagerly shut the kitchen door and locked it to prevent any prying sisters, then poured warm water in a bowl in preparation. When he finished, he noticed Frodo was still sitting in the same place where he had left him, not having moved an inch.  
  
"Uh, sir..." he began, and the elder hobbit sighed, rising wearily and coming to sit sideways in a chair beside the fire. He began unbuttoning his vest, and Sam noticed his hands were trembling ever so slightly. Slowly he removed it and folded it neatly, placing it on the chair back at his left elbow. Sam decided his friend was modest and busied himself with searching for a towel, averting his eyes while Frodo removed his shirt.  
  
As much as he tried to conceal it, Sam let out an audible gasp when he saw his friend's back. It had been four days since the incident, yet the red, raised welts and dark purple bruises were just as livid as if they had been received yesterday. Recent dried scabs had opened and little dark trails of blood sneaked in between the wounds, staining the pale skin. It was apparent Frodo had tried to clean his wounds, but they had re-opened from lack of proper care.  
  
Tears stung Sam's eyes as he gently washed away the blood, cleaning the cuts with soap and warm water. The room was silent except for an occasional tiny hiss of pain drawn in between Frodo's teeth, much against his will. Sam didn't say a word as he cautiously smoothed a protecting cream on the injuries, found among Bilbo's abundant medical supplies. Finally, he was finished.  
  
"I hope that feels better, sir," he said, washing his hands at the sink as Frodo tested the flexibility of the muscles associated to his back, first twisting his shoulders, then neck.  
  
"Thank you, Sam," he said replacing his shirt, and Sam watched happily as formerly invisible lines of tense pain slowly left his friend's face.  
  
"Well, thank you Mr. Frodo," he blushed, and stared at his toes. "I would've been the one with them cuts hadn't you taken my place."  
  
Frodo stopped buttoning the buttons and froze in place, utterly speechless, yet Sam wasn't finished.  
  
"I've never had a friend like you, sir, that is, one who would rather get hurt himself than let me be hurt, if you know what I mean. I guess I..." he paused and blushed even deeper, but raised his young eyes until they were looking straight into Frodo's, glistening with innocent tears of unconditional devotion. "I love you, Mr. Frodo, and that's the whole of it."  
  
A thousand phrases jumped around and blended so in Frodo's head that he couldn't tell one from another.  
  
_'What does he mean? He's only a child, he must think of you as a big brother. Nonsense, Sam has plenty of brothers, why must he choose me? A friend, perhaps. But does he realize the difference between friend and family? One doesn't love friend; they like them and play with them and tell them jokes, but love? He is too young to understand what he's saying. Oh, bother my complicated thinking! He is Sam, and he loves you as you, not as a friend or a brother, well, perhaps a combination of the two, but...'  
_  
"Why?" Frodo found himself asking the question he couldn't answer, and Sam seemed surprised.  
  
"Because I do, that's it," he said simply. "And it hurts me right here when you don't let me help you," he said, putting a hand over his heart.  
  
If a knock at the kitchen door hadn't sounded just then, Frodo didn't know what he would have done. He felt tears stinging the backs of his eyes, and quickly brushed them away, standing to unlock the door. Before he had taken two steps however, he found Sam wrapped around his waist in a quick hug, and he didn't have a chance to react before he was gone, bouncing out the door to his sister with a wave and a promise to be back tomorrow. He was gone, leaving a bewildered Frodo staring at the soiled rags in the sink and wondering in awe what he had done to deserve such a friend as young Samwise Gamgee.

* * *

**To be continued!**

I love reviews, especially from those of you out there who are coughtoolazycough to push that little button and type h-i in the review box...


	27. Tidings

**The Master of Bag End**

**Thank you **_Frodo Baggins 88, Breon Briarwood, Leia Wood, Kaewi, loveofthering, Interstellerhobbit, Midgette, laurajslr, Aurora Baggins, and Sam_ for reviewing!! I'm glad you enjoyed the Frodo/Sam scene in the last chapter, I like it too. Ah, and since Sam asked me to update for her birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Everybody wish Sam (yes, the same Sam I dedicated 'Letters to Hobbiton' to) a happy birthday. I think this is an appropriate chapter for a birthday. Now, on with the show. (I'm hoping to get 200 reviews, so....clicky clicky...._hint hint)_

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**Chapter 27: Tidings  
**  
"Gandalf, I know the roads are nearly frozen and the wind is cold and the snow is wet, but I implore you as a friend to let me go home!"  
  
The berated wizard never turned his gaze from the soft white flakes drifting steadily past the window, continuing to puff serenly at his pipe, completely ignoring the indignant hobbit who had been pestering him for the past week on the same topic.  
  
"Frodo is alone, Gandalf, alone in that huge smial, and you will not allow me to go to him! It is nearly Yule, and I am perfectly recovered, friend. Yes, I know you say I am not well and I may catch my death in the cold, but at least allow me to write a letter to him! Gracious me, he doesn't even know whether his uncle is alive or not...what? Stars, Gandalf, don't leave now! A letter at least..."  
  
The door banged finally behind the fleeing wizard, and Bilbo slumped against the bedpost in yet another painful defeat. He glanced mournfully out at the snow, wishing against hope he were back home in Bag End. In the depths of December, the cold had never been so penetrating, and he longed to be home with his nephew, not here. Yes, it was a pleasant place, but not when he was completely derived of any outside communication!  
  
"Frodo, my dear boy," he sighed into the thick air of the room, with only his own voice to answer him.

* * *

Miles away, the person of Bilbo's musings was staring out at the snow as well, longing for some news about his uncle. The peppery aroma of one of Mrs. Gamgee's stews came wafting across the room to meet his nose, but his stomach turned at the smell. He wasn't hungry much these days. Two or three meals a day was enough to keep him moving, and since he didn't have much to do besides chores save sit and read, or sit and watch the snow, he didn't need much energy.  
  
Of course if the Gamgees knew how little he ate they would be worrying until the problem was solved, at their expense. Already their mother was sending at least a meal a day en route of her youngest son, who did his best to cheer Frodo up and provide some form of company. But the time eventually came when Sam had to leave, and the lonely hobbit was left once again with nothing but empty halls and yawning doorways for company, save Autumn.  
  
The kitten, now grown to the size of a small cat, was an irreplaceable companion. She curled up on his lap when he sat down to read, she stretched on the floor in a room he was working in, and she pounced on his hands when he skittered his fingers across the floor in play. He had never known a pet could be so loving, and docile, and impish all at the same time. She kept him from going mad with lonesomeness sometimes, when the silence and depth of the place seemed to press around him from all sides, smothering him beneath its weight.  
  
Frodo turned from the window with an unspoken sigh. Words were no more use here, in this middle-ground of depression he seemed to be mired in. If only Bilbo would come back. If only he could hear some inkling of news from somebody! By now whispers were leaking around Hobbiton saying Bilbo had gone off again on an adventure and left his nephew to fend for himself. It would only be a matter of days before Lobelia and her husband were knocking on his door, demanding answers to questions he had dissected and turned inside out without finding a clue.  
  
The stew was cool by the time Frodo raised a spoonful to his lips. The tiny teaspoon trickled down his throat, coating the inside of his mouth with a sweet, sticky taste. Despite the mother's meticulous care, his appetite seemed to have departed him again with the first bite. Wordlessly he placed a cloth napkin over the practically untouched meal and placed it into the cupboard beside two other identical bowls. Perhaps Autumn would like some. She ate nearly anything he offered her, but he was too tired to spoon some into a bowl for her. His head pounded and he wanted to sleep, but he knew sleep would only result in continuous nightmares.  
  
The horrifying dreams had begun after Bilbo left, and scarcely a night since he had been plagued by their haunting apparitions. Once he had dreamed he was standing on the brink of a flaming chasm, gazing into a boiling sea of lava below. How had he known he was standing in a volcano? And how had he known something terrible and wonderful was going to happen in that place? Sam had been there, looking lost and scared, but he found he hadn't cared. Why?  
  
A knock sounded at the door, and slowly he went to answer it. A delivery lad stood on the doorstep and handed him a letter.  
  
"For Mr. Baggins of Bag End," he said, bowed, took the coin Frodo offered him, and hoped away into the curtain of snow.  
  
Stunned, Frodo stood completely frozen for a moment before he realized the door was still open and the cold was gusting into the smial. A letter by delivery? In the winter, of all times! He shut the door quietly and examined the address on the envelope.  
  
"Mr. Frodo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire," he read aloud to himself and Autumn who had come to see the excitement of the door being opened.  
  
Frodo scooped her up with one hand and shaking ever so slightly went back into the kitchen to read it. Could it be news at last from Bilbo? He had waited so long, and opened so many letters in dying hope; could this be it at last?  
  
His fingers fumbled with the wax seal bearing a single flower design, a golden water lily in a circle of vines. No, it wasn't the Brandybuck seal nor the Took, in fact it didn't appear to be of hobbit origin at all, but neither was it elf! Anxious to read the letter, Frodo slipped the seal open and removed a single sheet of parchment from the envelope.  
  
His heart raced as he stared at the folded piece of paper.  
  
"Well, it's now or never," he mumbled, and unfolded it.  
  
_Dear Frodo,  
  
Certainly you have suffered much anxiety over the sudden disappearance of your 'uncle' Bilbo nigh on a couple months ago. We hesitated to inform you of his condition until later, for sake of clarification and certainty of his recovery.  
  
We are pleased to inform you your cousin has awoken and is nearing complete recovery. Bilbo has been most anxious to communicate with you, but will not be able to until he is fully recovered. Until then, rest assured he is in good hands and will be treated with the utmost care and concern for his well-being.  
  
Thank you for your patience, and please do not bother to reply to this letter as it may find some difficulty in reaching the intended destination.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Gandalf  
_  
Frodo sank to the ground, completely limp. He found he couldn't move a muscle if he tried. The world seemed to be spinning around him, and he felt he was floating on a sphere of a cloud. He found he was clutching the letter so hard his fingernails sank through it and into his palm. His jaw trembled, and he stuffed a fist into his mouth to steady his emotions.  
  
_'This can't be real,'_ he thought in a panic, and his eyes flew to the top of the page, seeking a return address. There was none.  
  
"Is this a joke?" he yelled to the empty kitchen, but only his voice echoed back. Tears began to streak down his face, and he crumpled into a tiny ball, rocking back and forth on his heels as he sobbed.  
  
His heart was a tangle of emotions: relief at long-awaited news, joy his uncle was recovering, and weariness from the anxious wait. A foggy weight lifted from his shoulders, and he felt too light. His mind seemed to be empty now of the terrible burden, and he felt so weightless he fancied he could fly.  
  
"Frodo!" Sam's urgent voice startled him echoing through the smial and he jerked around, in shock. Evidently his joyful tear-streaked face told tales, for Sam was at his side in an instant with his arms wrapped around his friend, voice thick with emotion.  
  
"He's coming back!" Sam cried happily, pulling Frodo to his feet and leading him into the parlor to sit on a soft couch. The letter fell limply from his fingers into his lap.  
  
"He's alive," Frodo whispered, watery eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. "He's alive."  
  
"Is he coming home?" Sam asked anxiously, and his friend's eyes fluttered to the letter and then to Sam's face.  
  
"It said Bilbo would communicate with me once he was able to," Frodo said at last, "But no, it didn't say when he was coming home."  
  
"Well, sir, at least he's alive," Sam offered, watching the color slowly return to Frodo's face. A tiny smile alighted at the corner of his mouth, the first in a long time, and Sam suddenly wondered  
  
_'What would it be like to be in his place? Alone, no mother, no father, brothers or sisters? And then the only person who seemed to care for him vanishes, golly! I hope I'm doin' some good.'  
_  
Unable to contain himself, Sam caught Frodo in another fierce hug, fingers unintentionally digging into his friend's sides between the ribs. He pulled away sharply.  
  
"Have you been eatin', sir?" he asked in alarm, noticing how hollow Frodo's cheeks seemed to be.  
  
"I..." he seemed to be on the verge of revealing something, but in the next instant it was gone and he sank against the pillows. "Not now, Sam," he said weakly, voice trembling. "I don't think I should be able to eat if I tried."  
  
Sam's face fell and he stood up.  
  
"Perhaps some tea then, sir?"  
  
"No, no thank you," Frodo replied, raising himself with shaking arms. His entire body felt giddy and out of control.  
  
Sam gave one knowing glance at him then retreated to the kitchen, doubtless to get something to calm his friend down.  
  
_'Poor, dear Sam,'_ Frodo thought, hearing the shrill whistle of a tea pot echo through the halls, _'he tries so hard to help me. Why do I feel so guilty when I accept it? What is wrong with me; is it pride?'  
_  
Slowly, he rose and stumbled quietly from the parlor, making his way into his own cold bedroom where he burrowed into the pillow with a sad sigh. He thought he would have felt happy upon receiving news about Bilbo, but now that the initial shock was over, pain for Sam seemed to creep deeper into his heart.

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**To be continued!**


	28. Visitors

**The Master of Bag End**

**Thank you** _Aurora Baggins, Breon Briarwood, loveofthering, Leia Wood, Intersteller Hobbit, Frodo Baggins 88, laurajslr, and Kaewi_ for reviewing! hugs everybody Now, this is what it's all about. I really appreciate your kind support of this story specifically. I'm thrilled you love it. But I would like to know what you think about _my writing_ as a seperate issue. What can I do to improve it? Should I add more colors, more details? Do I give too much dialouge and not enough description? BE PICKY! Tear it apart, I'm ready for constructive criticism. See, the whole purpose of me writing at all is to practice. I want to be an author of books, and I'm practicing here, where the characters are already developed, the setting is placed. PLEASE tell me what I need to improve, what my weak points or strengths are. My beta disappeared and I need your support, as critiques. Thanks!

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**Chapter 28: Visitors  
**  
"Well boy, are you going to just stand there gawking or are you going to let us in?"  
  
Frodo stepped aside from the doorway and bowed respectfully as the small Sackville-Baggins family pushed their way importantly into the main hall, puffing and shaking their rich coats out from the snow. He hung up their cloaks and ushered the trio into the parlor, groaning inwardly at their unanticipated arrival. Lobelia's face was oozing with unasked questions, her husband glancing vaguely for her lead while Lotho's sneaking eyes teased and bored into every valuable object in the room. Even the chairs seemed to moan beneath their unwelcome weight, but Frodo plastered a smile on his face as he diligently served them tea. Once settled, Lobelia wasted no time.  
  
"Rumor has it that your uncle has gone away," she said, burrowing into a sponge cake. "Perhaps for good. Is this true?"  
  
"He is returning," Frodo replied calmly.  
  
"Are you so sure of that, boy?" she asked, eyes flashing. "Last time we all thought he disappeared for good. Who's to say he hasn't gone on another wild adventure and gotten himself killed?"  
  
"I received news yesterday informing me of his health and insured return," he replied, sipping his tea. Lobelia's eyes flickered to her husband, who gave a slight shrug. Lotho was making rather rude gestures in Frodo's direction.  
  
"You missed the point, boy. When will he return? Did the letter say that?" Otho asked sharply.  
  
"It assured me his return was imminent," he answered coldly, and Lotho clapped his hands upon the table, rattling the slender china teacups in their delicate saucers.  
  
"Ha!" he said loudly, "He's gone off into the blue again, and left you without so much as a copper coin!"  
  
The family smiled at each other evily, the Otho pulled a roll of parchment from his jacket, spreading it on the table so Frodo could read it.  
  
"This is a copy of the will left down by Balbo Baggins, who was, as you know, Bilbo's father. It states that if Bilbo does not sign for an eligible heir, the property (Bag End as you know it) is transferred to the closest kin, namely..."  
  
"Us," Lotho finished proudly, eyes glinting in the firelight.  
  
Frodo said nothing.  
  
"Don't you see, boy?" Lobelia pointed, waving her finger in his face. "If your uncle doesn't return soon, the property belongs to us."  
  
"He will return," Frodo assured, slightly shaken by the aggressive behavior of the family. No wonder Bilbo hated confronting them. A sly smile slowly snaked across Lobelia's face, and she nodded to her husband, who pulled another paper from his jacket, placing it beside the other.  
  
"This is an order for Bilbo's will, due by the end of this year, the thirty- first of December. That is three weeks away, mind you. If Bilbo doesn't return and make his will, signed traditionally by three witnesses in red ink, by midnight of 31 December, Bag End and everything in it is ours."  
  
The room was silent save for the unaffected crackling of the fireplace. Lotho cut in sharply.  
  
"Do you understand that, Baggins?" he cackled maliciously. "In three weeks you're out!"  
  
"Only if Bilbo doesn't come back," Frodo said stiffly, rising from his seat. "Where did you obtain this order? I don't recall any such law in Hobbiton."  
  
"Stupid boy, don't you realize how old your uncle is? He's ninety-nine, nine years past the age most make their will at. He's put it off for nine years, and now it's caught up with him!"  
  
"Bilbo is not like most hobbits, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins," Frodo replied thinly, escorting the grinning trio to the door. Otho pushed the documents into his hand as they waltzed out into the sharp afternoon air.  
  
"Remember Baggins," Lobelia called out as they sailed down the lane, "three weeks! I'd get started packing if..." the rest of her kind farewell was cut off as Frodo shut the door abruptly against the wind.

* * *

Icy snow squished between his toes as the lone figure struggled up the sleek white slope. Overhead the gray sky hung dangerously low to the bleak earth, threatening to collapse unless it deprived itself of its heavy burden: ice, sleet, and snow. Bitterly the biting wind swept over the hill, driving it's mad frosty chariots recklessly across the barren countryside.  
  
Heedless to the daunting weather, the dark-haired figure still struggled stubbornly on, clad only in breeches and a thin linen shirt. The wind whipped his scanty clothing against his thin body, more than once causing him to sway and loose his foothold on the slippery slope. Against the odds, however, he finally reached the summit and stood looking about him, surveying the distant horizon where it was swallowed up in the misty clouds.  
  
"Where are you?" he shouted shrilly into the uncaring north. He turned east. "Why have you left me?" Tears trailed down his white face, and his teeth chattered loudly against the frigid cold. Only the moaning wind answered his desperate pleas to the south, and gradually he turned despairingly west. He sank to his knees in the snow, raising his arms beseechingly to the horizon. "What have I done?" he whispered weakly, watching apathetically as his fingernails turned blue. Slowly he sank to the ground, resting his cheek against the soft, inviting bed. He was so cold, so cold. He should have brought a cloak at least, but no. He deserved to suffer. Why? For loosing Bag End.  
  
'It isn't lost yet!' A gentle voice pleaded with him to listen to compassion, to heed kindness and welcome love. No. He couldn't. He was one of the unlucky, doomed to suffer for this lifetime and beyond. The shadow began clouding in on his mind as the wind whipped his hair and the snow sank into his skin. Warmth. He felt warm. So soft, so welcoming.  
  
A figure materialized out of the swirling flurries of snow. A beautiful dark-haired woman with bare white arms, clothed in waving ribbons of blue, sliver gems in her hair, singing in a sweet, melodic voice.  
  
_Sleep, my child. _

_Winter's Eyes will smile. _

_As the gentle waves of music's strain _

_Floating, wind into your mind. _

_Soothing sorrow bring you home, _

_Pain and anguish never know. _

_Peace eternal, world of Bliss, _

_Come with me, on one small kiss.  
_  
Her promise sounded good to him. His blue eyes clouded and closed to the world, and he slept.

* * *

With a cry Sam flung himself upon his friend's freezing body, wrapping his arms around the icy form and turning his face from the cold mud. The smiling lips were blue, the face tinged in a white coating of ice. The heart within him beat ever slower, fading, fading.  
  
"Oh no you don't," Sam said stubbornly, and he picked up Frodo's limp body and bore him hastily into the warmth under the wind-swept hill.

* * *

The candle burned ever lower in the brass holder, dripping wax steadily onto the bedside table. A harsh cough erupted from the placid form buried beneath the blue and white layers of blankets on the bed, and a shuddering colorless hand snaked out, reaching but never finding.  
  
"Doomed." The tiny whisper floated past the pale lips and died on the air, heedless of the young figure burrowed close beside the other. The yellow candle flickered thoughtfully, and with a blue spark and final thrust of sputtering orange light, it died out.  
  
But the two hobbits in the bed slept on, breathing deeply, warming each other with their comforting presence.

* * *

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked rhythmically, methodically, as it had always done. The shadows in the room floated carelessly across the floor as time paced slowly by, dancing across the ceiling, each minute different than the one before. The light flickered dully on the pale cream walls, casting the corners into darkness, shining on the polished mahogany floor.  
  
Time lingered in the room, sitting down with a contented sigh in the forest- green plush chairs, settling his feet upon the brass grate of the soot- encrusted round brick fireplace.  
  
The clock ticked, and the shadows crept steadily on, passing breathlessly across the walls, brushing the pale foreheads in the soft bed, on their way out the golden window to return again tomorrow.

* * *

Frodo's eyelashes creaked painfully open, and he turned his head away from the bright white sunlight streaming in through his window. Where was the lady with the sweet voice? She had promised him no more pain. Why then did he ache and burn all over? Why did this room look so much like his own in Bag End?  
  
_'Tricked,'_ he thought dully, and with a sigh, a terribly alive sigh, he closed his eyes against the cruel bleak world and slept some more.

* * *

**To be continued!**

Now, be picky! Please tell me if you would like to see my writing on the shelf as it is, or improved! (Sorry if I'm distracting you from the story, but I really need to know!)


	29. Light and Shadow

**The Master of Bag End**

**Thank you** to _Breon Briarwood, Leia Wood, loveofthering, Frodo Baggins 88, Kaewi, Potter Girl (wonderful to see you!) Julia Baggins, Andrea, Aurora Baggins, LUZMELA, Intersteller Hobbit, and lovethosehobbits_ for reviewing, and for your tips! Thank you very much.

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**Chapter 29: Light and Shadow**

Frodo was ashamed. He brought the steaming teacup to his lips with a quivering hand, staring blankly at the wall across from him as he mindlessly sipped the scalding contents. Wrapped in a thick blanket, he was seated on the couch in the parlor under Sam's thick scrutiny, whose eyes never left his charge for a moment. The atmosphere was heavy with pain and questions. Why, Mr. Frodo? What is wrong? Twice now. _Twice!_

Frodo couldn't bring himself to meet those piercing brown eyes. He was afraid of what he might find in them. Anguish. Betrayal. Hurt. He lived to banish those dreadful emotions from other people's eyes. Why did he always fail? Why couldn't he succeed, just for once? What was he doing wrong?

Deep, penetrating pain bored through his chest, and he feared he would cry. Why couldn't he make people happy? Why did sorrow and destruction always wallow in his wake? There must be something wrong with him. Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough. Why, here was evidence! He was sitting wrapped in blankets on this couch sipping tea while Sam watched him rigidly in a hard-backed chair, mouth dry, pain in his eyes. Their places should be reversed. Sam was not meant to suffer; he was not meant to watch others enjoying luxury, observing from behind a cold glass window, no. That was Frodo's place.

_That_ was the problem! He had been enjoying too much luxury lately, letting others wait on him, having others do his chores and serve him tea. _That_ was what was wrong! How stupid of him not to have thought of it before. He had switched places, thus the disastrous results. Poor Sam, to think something was wrong with him. There was! He was in the wrong place.

Frodo set the tea cup down and rose on unsteady legs. His selfish side wanted only to sleep the day away beside a warm fire, but no, that was not his place. He took the blanket from his shoulders and was surprised at how cold the room was, despite the roaring fire. There was another thing, he observed with shame. Sam had lit the fire, doubtless having to travel outside into the freezing weather to do so. Guilt mounted in his chest and he shyly offered the blanket to Sam, who took it without question and began to fold it. Frodo instantly snatched it back in embarrassment at the misunderstanding and finished the job while Sam watched in surprise. If only his arms would stop shaking! This infernal weakness was making his place so much more difficult to maintain.

The same giddiness prevailed through his limbs as he attempted to put the blanket away and dress. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the kitchen, only to find a simple breakfast laid out on the table and Sam waiting patiently beside it. Now why wasn't the silly hobbit eating? The table was only set for one.

Deciding to ignore Sam's unexpected behavior, Frodo noticed the dishes had already been washed and the kitchen tidied up. His heart sank, and he wearily traversed down the hall into the laundry room, only to find it empty and sparkling. Yesterday it had been littered with piles of dirty clothing. He bit his lip against the tears and stumbled into the front entry. Immaculate. His knees suddenly refused to support him anymore and he fell heavily to the floor. Why? What had he done wrong?

_'No, you have done nothing wrong,'_ a voice told him, _'it is you.'_

"What is wrong with me?" Frodo whispered to the bright green door. He shivered and watched the snow fall silently outside the frosted window.

Life couldn't have meant to be this way, to always suffer, always cause pain. Did other people experience this? No, they couldn't. Everyone else seemed happy, seemed content. Why was he different?

"It's just me," he tried to convince himself, but he knew it was wrong. Deep inside of him he knew what was causing his innermost anguish to display itself in such an odd manner.

He knew pain. His parents death. His neglected upbringing. Early taunts, before he had learned to ignore the rude gossips. Pain.

The agony of his soul was so real, so horribly alive that at times he felt it tightening, burning his chest. The constant tension in his forehead, the silent sobs and cries flung at the uncaring walls.

"A shadow," he whispered in awe.

While other children played in the fields, went on picnics with their parents and swam in a sea of happiness, he observed their joy from behind a shadowed window. He was an unannounced outcast, a burden to society; a shadow.

At times he felt so invisible, a puff of wind could have blown him away, scattering his wispy fragments to dissolve into the dusty air.

"I want to be real," he half whispered, half sobbed to the empty space about him.

But of course, no one was there to listen, to wrap their arms around his achingly real body, to tell him he was not a shadow, that someone loved him.

No one, except Sam.

He suddenly felt warm arms lift him gently to his feet and guide him down the hallway. His head lolled limply forward and he felt as flimsy as a rag doll, but he didn't care. For he finally knew what was wrong.

Sam tucked him tenderly into bed and sat down beside him, waiting.

"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered, fully aware of the tears running down his face. Sam waited. "I....I only want...."

"Love?" Sam asked simply, warm brown eyes full of compassion and understanding.

"Yes!" Frodo breathed, and the emotions and confusion so long pent up inside of him finally burst forth upon the eager, loving ears of his best friend. "I want to be real! I am a shadow, existing only for the convenience of others. They don't see I am real, I have a heart, I have blood in my veins, I feel too! I suppose that is why I've been so foolish about my health. It must have been a silly attempt to draw attention to myself, or perhaps to wordlessly portray the pain I feel inside to the outside world, but oh! How much anguish I have caused you, dear, dear Sam, and Bilbo, and your mother. I....I am so sorry." He choked on a sob blocking his throat and tilted his tear-streaked face to the ceiling. "So sorry."

"Frodo," Sam said softly, tears in his eyes, "I know. I understood a long time ago that you were hurtin' inside, and I tried my best ta, well, help you out, but I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that I love you, and Bilbo loves you. You ain't a shadow ta us sir, why, you're the bravest hobbit I know, and the noblest. Who else would have taken my beatin' when that wicked Amber had us tied? I don't know of many others, sir, but even if the whole world don't see you, I do. And I love you for it, that's the honest truth."

Sam blushed but didn't pull away. He really meant what he said, and it was obvious he wouldn't leave until he had impounded his truths into the thick Baggins head in front of him.

Frodo himself sat back aghast.

"In truth, you don't set my tea and do my chores because it's your duty? You don't play with me and let me teach you to read because you should? You....you love me? Me, Frodo Baggins, the tender being under this thick, horrid shell?"

Sam nodded, smiling. He didn't want to make any more speeches.

The tears had dried in Frodo's eyes, and now he was staring speechless at the wall. This was beyond his wildest dreams, that someone could see past the mask and love his true self, the self he never displayed to the world. Yet Sam was sincere. There was no lie behind his honest hazel eyes. There couldn't be, because Sam was too pure and innocent of heart to tell such a lie.

"Sam," Frodo breathed, turning his joyful face towards his satisfied companion. His thankfulness, his dependence and love all flowed from his lips on the simple, noble name of the one who meant the world to him.

Sam.

* * *

**To be concluded next chapter**!


	30. The Master of Bag End

**The Master of Bag End**

**by: FrodoBaggins87**

**BIG HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed every single chapter...off the top of my head Kaewi, Breon Briarwood, loveofthering, laurajslr, and if I forgot you I'm sorry...so here you are, a note to everybody:**

**Intersteller Hobbit: **Oh good, how Frodo started saying it like that...that's great. I hope I did more of that in this chapter. Thank you!!!!!

**Leia Wood:** Thank you for such an awsome review! I loved your to think of it I still do. Thank you for being specific. And thank you for saying I keep getting better and better...that's the whole point.

**Breon Briarwood:** Hmm, good point about it being a little premature. My excuse is that Frodo isn't an ordinary hobbit and is after all a little mature for his age at this point, and he's I guess the equivalent of me, at my age that is...not to say he is me, and not to be like all 'i'm frodo look at me,' but basically, if I can do it he can darn well too! not to sound cocky or anything, really. As for Sam, he has rare insights of truth in LotR, and i think it's not impossible, but good point though. Thank you for mentioning it. And THANK YOU for reviewing so much!

**loveofthering:** I hate it when a good story comes to an end too...especially when I have to be the one that does the ending. This ending was rather difficult to get started on, but I hope I tied it up enough. THANK YOU for reviewing!

**laurajslr:** I'm so glad it was Frodo-ish. Reality is a very good thing! Thank you for both reviews, and hope to see you around!

**LUZMELA:** Frodo and Sam are peas in a pod, and it's terrible when people make them gay, cause that's not true. They do need each other...Frodo someone to lean on, Sam someone to support. Thank you for reviewing!

**Frodo Baggins 88:** Who he truly is...yes, we'll see more of that soon. Thanks for reviewing! And update Alone!

**Kaewi:** Thank you for reviewing! And I am glad that you gave me a specific review, thank you! I think I already wrote to you, so read on and enjoy!

**Midgette:** _bawls_

**Aurora Baggins:** Sam is always there...until Frodo leaves him in RotK...but that isn't what this story is about! phew thank you for reviewing, and ttyl!

**Iorhael:** Poor Frodo, that's just Frodo's phrase, that's why we love him! grins Thank you for reviewing, and I hope to catch up on your stories....wipes forehead

**chels:** Hello! Where'd you come from? just kidding...great to see you! I'm glad you love the story, and you're fortunate to stumble upon it when I'm finishing it so you don't have to be tortured with the suspense...just kidding. sorry i didn't update sooner, but it's been difficult to make.

**Julia Baggins:** I'll continue....for one more chapter, and this is it! I"M SORRY! but it had to end sometime...and there's thrity chapters to re-read...oh speaking of which....

_I UPDATED the first chapter!!!! IT IS DIFFERENT!!! GO READ IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE!!! (not that it'll make much difference, but it does not continue from tNoaTS anymore.)_

**Chapter 30: The Master of Bag End**

* * *

Lotho's grimy jaw worked steadily, chewing at the wad of tobacco while he slumped in a chair, waiting inside the fire lit door of the Green Dragon. A rough looking hobbit in his mid forties poked his shoulder drunkenly and grinned, flashing a set of yellowed teeth in the younger hobbit's face.

"Did ye hear?" the drunk hobbit slurred, "that wench Amber died, some sort of infection from a burn, he!"

Lotho only raised his eyebrows, pushing the fellow away from him. He knew already, why did everyone think they had such wonderful news for him? Amber had been a tool, and now that her use was over, she ceased to matter to him. His obsession now waited with the 31st of December, when Bag End would be his! It had been difficult to obtain the documents, but bribes can be very handy when used effectively.

So for now, he sat in the Green Dragon, chewed tobacco, and waited while the snow fell outside.

* * *

The knock was unexpected. Sam and Frodo had been mourning over a last tea together in Bag End, this 30th day of December. The room had been silent save for the crackling of the fireplace and the tiny delicate clink of china as they stirred the tea around in the tea cups. Nothing intelligent to say came to mind, so they sat and stared sadly at the cozy kitchen about them and silently mourned. Of course Sam had offered for Frodo to stay with him, and of course Frodo had declined, knowing the inconvenience it would cause, and had instead made arrangements to move back into Brandy Hall. His bags were packed, and although he had thoroughly examined the documents, even gone to the Mayor's office to question them, they remained stubbornly effective. Of course the clerk had sounded a bit odd, but the mayor had been away on business and wouldn't return until after the 10th of January, obviously too late to have his say in the matter. A gloomy, depressing air prevailed in the smial's halls, settling into the carpets and floors, soaking into the mattresses and chairs.

Which was why the knock reverberated in Frodo's ears as though reclining beneath a bell tower, piercing the air and slowly drifting away on a sweet note.

He glanced questioningly at Sam, who shrugged and stealthily picked up a poker from beside the fireplace, brandishing it like a club. Frodo straightened his vest and strode business-like down the hall to open the door with the dignified, noble air of a mature gentlehobbit, and nearly fainted at what he saw.

* * *

From his limited position, Sam could not see why Frodo turned completely pale, nor what he was staring at in such utter shock. The blood rushed to Sam's face and he thrust his way in front of his friend, brandishing the poker to defend Frodo from the intruder.

"Steady there, Sam-lad! You shouldn't be waving that poker about, nasty business if it clubs someone in the eye, what?"

Sam froze, riveted to the threshold, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"Bilbo?"

* * *

It couldn't be real. He wasn't real. Frodo could simply not believe that the bundled figure on the doorstep was a living, breathing hobbit, especially the one he had been pinning for these long weeks. Even Sam's slight jostling as he bristled past to defend him did not shake the disbelief from his forehead. Everything screamed inside him that it was not true, it wasn't happening, yet his eyes betrayed him.

The apparition was speaking, but the words floated past and were lost on the winter air. Until Sam croaked out a single word,

"Bilbo?"

and Frodo found he could believe.

"Hullo uncle," he half-whispered, and his hand pushed the door aside for Bilbo to enter. Somehow the trio ended up inside the foyer, Sam helping the elderly hobbit to hang up his thick wrappings. Still Frodo found himself fidgeting, half-aware of the proceedings ghosting about him. It was real.

Bilbo had caught him by the upper arms and was examining his face; was that a tear trickling down his nose?

"Frodo, my dear boy," Bilbo cracked, lower lip trembling. "I've missed you so."

The words caught in Frodo's throat, but somehow they leaked past the great lump and escaped from his mouth before he could stop them.

"I missed you too," and the two were caught in the throes of an embrace that lasted for a lifetime and beyond.

* * *

"When Gandalf found me, he knew there wasn't a moment to loose, and seeing as how you were in good hands, he took me with him to the house of a dear old friend of his," Bilbo explained. He tea-time audience of two was captivated by the long-awaited history he was revealing. "Unfortunately I cannot give you the location, for I was unconscious during the fore-trip and asleep the way back, but apparently I was in the midst of a forest in the house of Tom Bombadil, odd name if you ask me. Apparently I was in a dreadful coma, and didn't come out of it for an anxious time, but when I did awaken the first thing I did was ask about you, Frodo. I wouldn't give poor Gandalf a rest until I had sent you a letter, but eventually he decided he had had enough Baggins' stubbornness and brought me back here instead. I do hope I didn't shock you too much by my unannounced arrival."

Frodo shook his head slowly, digesting the information.

"No, not at all," he said distractedly.

Sam wiggled uncomfortably in the seat beside him, tea and cakes long forgotten with the urgency of what he had to say. It burst from him before he could think of a polite way to say it.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir, the Sackville-Baggins are goin' ta take the house tomorrow. Don't ya think they should be stopped?"

"What?!" Bilbo's eyebrows shot downward and his eyes narrowed. "Take Bag End, again? What is this, Frodo?"

"They came with a notice a couple weeks ago saying if you weren't back to sign a will leaving the house to another party before December 31st, which falls tomorrow, they would claim the property and everything in it, except me of course."

"This is an outrage!" Bilbo exploded from his seat and began pacing furiously. "The minute I am gone they attempt to wrest the hole from me, again! They haven't learned, hmph! Well, Frodo my lad, we'll show them us real Bagginses are terrible hard to beat!"

He turned to Frodo with the mischievous glint in his eye that was so characteristic of his personality, and which Frodo had missed more than he himself knew. He was suddenly flooded with warmth and vitality, and an irrepressible urge for mischief, to be himself again after all these years.

"What is your plan, uncle?"

* * *

The Sackville-Bagginses arrived at precisely 10 o'clock the next morning, looking very smug and overly pleasant. Lobelia actually greeted Frodo in a civilized manner when he opened the door to admit them.

"Good morning, cousin Frodo, how are you today?"

"Well enough," he answered flatly as he ushered the family into the parlor and offered them tea.

"I assume you have everything packed?" Otho asked as he stirred his tea and spooned sugar into it, but before Frodo could answer the room exploded into harsh coughing.

"Lotho, dear baby, what is it?" Lobelia fussed and patted her son on the back as his body shook with irrepressible coughs.

"Cakes...." He finally managed to croak out, pointing with a shaking finger to a half-eaten cake on the table. His father picked it up and began to examine it, taking a tentative nibble at the very edge. His face contorted and he spit ferociously, taking a deep draught of tea.

"AGH!" he cried suddenly, clutching his throat and panting.

"What is it!" Lobelia shrieked, furious at her husband's inability to explain.

"Pe....pep...pepper....in.....tea...." he finally managed to breathe, fanning his mouth. His face was bright red, nearly matching the shade of his son's, and Frodo with difficulty managed to contain his amusement.

"Would you like some water?" he asked, and Lotho glared at him through watery eyes.

"You....put something in....in the cakes!" the indignant young hobbit managed.

"What?" Frodo feigned innocence, attempting a look of hurt pride. "I beg your pardon, why would I do something like that?" He poured two glasses of water and the two sufferers snatched them greedily, downing the contents in one massive gulp. Their mouths were burning too much to see if the water had been fixed too.

"Frodo Baggins! Explain this at once!" Lobelia rose to her feet and was meaning to stare down at her victim, but Frodo drew himself up to her eyelevel and only reached inside his coat pocket and handed her a sealed envelope.

"This is for you," he said, watching as she tore it open and scanned the contents, mouth slowly dropping open in horror.

"What....what is this nonsense?" she stammered, eyes glowing red with rage.

"I should ask you that question, Lobelia."

All eyes, teary and dry, turned to the doorway where Bilbo stepped from the shadows.

"I should ask you why you attempted to steal my home from me, and in turn, my nephew Frodo. I should ask you why you forged a legal document, but I will not bother myself with those questions because the truth is plain. You..."

"You want Bag End and will do anything to get it," Frodo interrupted. "Perhaps you should think about others, and be grateful for what you do have. You have a luxurious hole, a family, a roof over your heads and warm food to eat. Think of other hobbits, who are scratching out a meager living, barely managing to survive. Perhaps if you spent more time thinking of ways to help others rather than plans to get what you want, you would have a tremendous wealth of friendship, which is far more valuable than material possessions which can vanish so easily. Friends, however, will support and love you through the most difficult times in your life, where things cannot."

Frodo's voice trailed away as he thought of how true his words had been. But he hadn't time to think on it before Lobelia grabbed her husband and son and began shooing them out the door.

"This will means nothing," she stammered, waving the paper carelessly. "Your pretty speech was touching, Frodo, but that world does not exist for me. And as for Bag End, this changes nothing, Bilbo. You may have won the battle, but we will win this war!"

The door slammed behind them, and despite himself Frodo began to chuckle.

"The hotroot certainly worked, uncle. You should have seen Lotho's face!" Bilbo grinned and threw an arm around his nephew's shoulders.

"Ah, but put the credit where it is due, Frodo. The tea was ingenious!" Frodo blushed and glanced wistfully at the remnants of the tea.

"It's too bad they didn't try the cheese..."

* * *

The firelight flickered rhythmically off the parlor walls, dancing to the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Frodo gave a deep sigh of contentment as he snuggled deeper into the plush armchair and gazed into the orange flames hovering over the glowing bed of scarlet embers.

"What was in the will, uncle?" he asked, turning to Bilbo, hunched over a writing tablet.

"Hmm? Ah, the will. In short, you."

"Me?" Vaguely Frodo remembered another time, another place, another Frodo asking the same question. But it was different this time. He did not feel embarrassed nor unworthy, he simply felt modest yet grateful, and special, that his uncle had chosen him out of his abundant relatives.

"I think I'm making the right decision," Bilbo smiled. His nephew had changed. No longer was he the shy, secretive hobbit he had taken under his wing only a few months ago. Somehow his mask had fallen away. The lad he knew as a child, before the tragic accident, existed as a new bud before him now, curious, noble, friendly and polite, yet with a deep inner core of resolute strength barely tapped into.

"Frodo, you are going to do great things," Bilbo said, glancing at his nephew's face, fine-lined and graceful, delicate to those who didn't know the iron will forged into his bones and coursing through his blood. This was the hobbit he loved.

"Mithril," Bilbo murmured. Frodo was mithril, in every part. Pure and true, light as a feather yet hard as dragon's hide. Woe be unto anything, or anyone who crossed his path.

"Bilbo?" The elderly hobbit blinked back into focus, watching the firelight sparkle in his beloved Frodo's eyes. He would lay down his life for this treasure in the twinkling of an eye. The Thing in his pocket was no match for the love he bore his nephew.

"I was ill during your time away," Frodo continued, "and I thought you had died. I must ask your forgiveness, but I nearly ended my own life because I didn't realize how much you cared for me. I am sorry, I was wrong."

Bilbo could think of nothing to do but to pull Frodo into a tight hug, burying his chin into the soft woolen collar of the coat the lad wore. He inhaled his nephew's scent, lavender, ink, and the sharp aroma of new parchment.

"I love you, my boy," he whispered.

Frodo laid his forehead on his uncle's shoulder and breathed deeply. Everything was perfect. Perhaps he should tell Bilbo of Autumn and the litter of four kittens he had found in the laundry room this morning.

No, that could wait until tomorrow.

* * *

**The End**

****

_Bawls_ I'm so sad to end this! It's been so much fun, wait...it's over? Nooooooo! But don't worry, I'll be around. Now go read all my other stories. _hint hint_


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